Dia de Los Muertos
by kittsbud
Summary: Dean and Sam must finally confront not only their arch enemy, but their inner demons. With two terrible secrets revealed, the boys must fight the demon and prevent a tragedy, but at what price? Please note discretion for mentions of self harm, S2 Spoilers
1. Chapter 1

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_Man is what he believes..._

_Anton Chekhov_

The river's motion beckoned to him, calling, yearning for him to throw his life away in its burbling waters. And yet, Sam couldn't yield.

He had to be certain, certain that if he wanted to end it that his attempt would be successful. After all that had happened, after all that he had learned about his sorry self, the world deserved nothing less. He couldn't afford for some passer-by to come along and tug him from the bowels of the river at the last minute, but then, that would be just his luck.

No. If he were to die, then it should be by his own hand. Sam picked up the Glock that lay in his lap and whirled it around via the trigger guard, absently letting the nearby water's beauty entrance him. Why couldn't he come from something so pure, so gentle? But, no, his element was fire, just like the demon that would one day control him. _I won't let it. For Dad's sake, for Dean's, for everything they fought for…died for…_

Life, death, just weren't fair. Mary, his mother had died because of him, Dad had died because Sammy boy was so stupid he didn't even know the power he wielded, and Dean? Dean was cursed to try and ever watch over his brother's ass, even though it wasn't worth saving. At least, he had been, until tonight.

Sam shifted uneasily on the siding he'd precariously perched himself upon, and he stopped twirling the forty-five. Dean had had the thankless task of stopping his own brother from turning to the dark side. But was that even possible? Had fate already ordained Sam's future? To the younger Winchester, it looked like it more and more each day, each hour.

After all, his one remaining protector was gone now. How long would it take for him to succumb when the demon next came calling?

Sam rubbed a rough palm across the piece of German steel in his hand and felt its coldness -- coldness like the chill in his own heart. The chill that had resided there since he'd discovered the truth about his past. _I can't live with this any longer – what I might become, what I will become if Azazel has his way…_

What use was having such immense power if he couldn't use it for good? What was the point if all it brought was heartache, death…maybe even one day Armageddon?

Could he really risk becoming the devil's sidekick?

Sam didn't think so. Hell, he wasn't about to wait that long to find out. He wasn't going to see his most precious of gifts turn to evil, and there was only one foreseeable way to stop it.

The young hunter looked down at the weapon that rested squarely in his grasp. A weapon he had used so many times to save lives, and now he was going to use it to end one.

_Dad, Dean, Mom…Jess… _

Sam was sorry for the pain-filled deaths he had brought, each and every one of them. Sorry that they had tried to shield him, protect him, and all he had given back was a life of misery. Had he known all those long months, years ago, he would have ended it before and given what was left of the Winchester clan a chance at a _real _life.

Sam gingerly flicked off the Glock's safety catch and with a quick tug back on its barrel, cocked the weapon. It clicked satisfactorily and Sam swallowed, feeling his chest clench at what he was about to do.

"So sorry, Dean…" The words were whispered, remorseful, pained, and moisture began to fill Sam's eyes – not for himself, but for the others who had paid the price of shielding him.

The hunter nestled his gun in his mouth, letting the barrel rest on his lower lip. He closed his eyes, wishing there was someone left to say his farewells to.

Sam's forefinger closed on the trigger, muscles tensing as he pulled back on the sprung mechanism.

In the Kansas night, a sole gunshot's discharge echoed across the local river and then all was still; not even the muted sounds of nearby traffic broke the silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews. :) It helps me know I'm getting it right. Just a quick reminder there are season 2 spoilers in this part!**

**Two Days Earlier…**

Dean barged into the tiny motel room as if he'd actually tried to kick the door in. The door snapped back, its recoil almost catching Sam as he followed behind his irate brother.

"Sonofabitch!" The elder hunter fumbled for the light switch in the dark, leaving a long bloody trail across the grimy wallpaper from a cut to his hand. Sam ignored his brother's cussing and quickly walked across the sparsely furnished room to flick on his bedside lamp. The thing's cover was so dusty it didn't illuminate the scene a great deal better, but at least the tirade of verbal abuse from the doorway ceased and the main light flickered before bathing them in a less than golden glow.

"Dean…"

"Dude, I killed the frickin' thing, didn't I? Does it really matter how?" The elder hunter glowered, but didn't offer up any further insight as to what had been going through his mind to make him attempt taking on a Sasquatch bare-handed.

Not that Sam needed any explanation. Dean wasn't himself – hadn't been for months, and it wasn't all about John's death. At first, Sam had thought their father's demise had been the trigger, but it hadn't been until recently in Oregon that he'd learned the full horror of what his brother had been forced to shoulder alone.

Just before his death, John had made a confession to Dean – a fact so frightening about Sam that their father had sworn the elder brother to secrecy. Whatever the undisclosed information was, it was eating Dean alive.

Of course, Dean being Dean, he had kept his promise to John, dangling the secret in front of Sam's nose, but not revealing what it was.

As they'd stood by Crater Lake that day, Sam had wanted to punch his brother for his stubbornness, but in the end all he'd done was turn his back to Dean, and for weeks, although they had still traveled together, the pair had rarely spoken.

They were beyond that stage now – barely. Sam had conceded that eventually Dean would crack and open up, and until then he'd try and be strong for his brother. Dean needed him; he needed someone to be his conscience, his reasoning until all this was over, just as much as Sam needed to know the truth.

"Want a beer?" The younger Winchester tried to lighten the mood, to deflect if from the obvious topic.

Dean shook his head wearily and flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket or clean the multitude of cuts and scratches he'd gathered while rolling through thicket with what felt a ten-ton ogre. "I just want to hit the hay. Long day already," he sighed, clicking off the light between their beds and then rolling onto his side, hand stuffed beneath the pillow.

Sam capped his bottle and took a swig of Coors before checking his watch. It was barely past midnight – early for Dean to even consider sleeping. Did that mean he was avoiding talking again? Was he so afraid Sam would work the secret from him like some carefully trained interrogator?

Sam shook his head and bounced onto his own bed, one hand behind his head, the other still cradling his beer. Taking another drink, he leaned back and watched his brother for awhile. Dean wasn't faking, he had truly fallen asleep the minute his head had hit the pillow, but from the grunts and slight whimpers that escaped his lips every few seconds, his slumber had not brought him peace.

The corridors were cold, empty, devoid of any human presence, and it scared him. Dean Winchester had faced every creature known and unknown to man and never faltered, and yet here, something was "off."

Brief flashes of memory told him he'd been hurt, both by the yellow-eyed demon and then a crash in the Impala, and yet, he felt no pain.

Dean swallowed hard and glanced down to the simple white t-shirt he was wearing. It was wrong, all wrong. He should be in a bed, hell, he should be in agony. Even now he could taste the bitter iron of his own blood in his mouth from the demon's attack, and yet…nothing, no agony anymore, no apparent injuries.

Dean shook himself and padded barefoot down the hallway to a room he instinctively knew was his. Pushing open the door he stopped dead, almost too literally, as he witnessed his own failing form hooked to every kind of hospital machine available.

It was all becoming clear now. He was dying, and at some point his soul had vacated its mere mortal shell. That didn't mean he had to give in, though, did it? Dean Winchester knew enough about the afterlife to at least have hope that if he fought hard enough he could get back. He wasn't dead yet, not by a long shot.

The thought comforted him, at least for a short time.

The scene shifted, hospital corridors whirling in a black and white maelstrom in his mind until Dean was standing before a girl – but not just any girl. He had trusted her, believed in her, and yet now she was confessing to be the very thing that would take his life. Tess was a reaper, and she was here for only one thing.

_"It's your time to go Dean, and you're living on borrowed time already." _

Borrowed time? What did that mean anyway? Whatever it meant, Dean knew it wasn't fair. He'd fought too hard, tried so much to save his family, his brother – mankind even.

_"There's no such thing as an honorable death. My corpse is going to rot in the ground and my family is going to die. No, I'm not going with you. I don't care what you do."_

_"Well, like you said, there's always a choice. I can't make you go with me, but you're not getting back in your body, and that's just facts. So, yes, you can stay. You'll stay here for years, disembodied, scared, and over the decades it will probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent."_

_"What are you saying?"_

_"Dean, how do you think angry spirits are born? They can't let go and they can't move on, and you're about to become one. The same thing you hunt." _

Could he? Would he? The thought was too much to take in. Maybe, just maybe it would be better to let go, to be free from the torment of the Winchester curse, but then, that left Sammy…

_"It's time to put the pain behind you."_ Tessa was almost convincing – almost.

Defeat loomed in his voice, an acceptance that there were some things even a Winchester couldn't fight_. "And go where?"  
_  
_"Sorry, I can't give away the big punchline. Moment of truth, no changing your mind later. So what's it going to be?"_

"_What's it going to be…?" _

"_What's it going to be…?"_

The question repeated over and over, demanding, taunting, beckoning, until Dean could take no more. The elder hunter screamed out, his heart pounding and his pulse racing until he realized it was over, he was alive, although perhaps not by God's will.

The accident in Missouri had been months ago, and even though he had had no memory of it until a few nights previously, so had his encounter with Tessa the reaper. She was gone now, and he was free. Or was he?

The remnants of the truth were finally coming back to haunt him, to plague his every moment of sleep, and now that he was seeing what his mind had pushed away, hidden even, it only made the pain of John's death that much harsher.

Dean knew his dad had died for his life long before the nightmares, but to hear the reaper's voice, to hear the demon's voice, it was just too much.

"Sonofabitch!"

Dean sat bolt upright in bed and heaved down two long gulps of air before even attempting to get his bearings. Beads of perspiration streamed down his face where he'd tossed and turned until his body could take no more, and the duvet he'd so longingly dived into earlier lay strewn on the floor in a crumpled, sweat drenched heap.

"Dean? You alright? Man, you look like…"

Sam's voice filtered from the small table in the front section of their room and Dean looked up to see his brother sitting with a coffee, laptop open and booted.

"It's nothing." Dean's lie was so transparent he didn't know why he'd even bothered offering it up, but then, there was no way he was telling Sammy about his little out of body experience.

Sam already knew half the details, but what he didn't know about Tessa wouldn't hurt him. The elder hunter wiped his brow with his forearm and winced as he looked at the tiny alarm beside his bed. It was 5 a.m. in the morning. "So, you wanna tell me why geekboy is up and researching at this ungodly hour?" The question was more of a deflection than anything, although it was easily apparent something had caught Sam's attention.

"I couldn't sleep," the younger hunter explained truthfully. "After you dozed off I switched on the TV and came across a documentary about Lawrence…"

At the mention of their home town, Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Lawrence brought back bad memories, and somewhere deep inside it made his stomach churn at the thought of another encounter with the demon.

"Don't tell me, Missouri finally got her own psychic freak show?" It was a weak quip, but better than having to face the real possibility that Sam was onto something big.

"Nope, not Missouri…" Sam pushed up from his chair and poured his brother a black coffee. It wasn't easy to try and ignore the signs that Dean was on the verge of a breakdown. The mood swings, the tendency to be that little bit more violent or daring since their father's death, and now, the nightmares he refused to talk about. "Mothman sightings," he admitted, passing over the mug and waiting for the barrage of sarcastic comments he knew would come.

"Mothman?" Dean's face screwed into a look somewhere between despair and mockery, and he put a hand to his temple as if he were getting an Everest-sized headache. "Dude, those freakin' things are so not real! You know how long dad spent researching the Point Pleasant deal, and he found nothing. Nada, except a bunch of paranoid locals with too much time on their hands and a very nasty, but non-paranormal bridge collapse."

Sam nodded dolefully, but continued anyway. "I know, Dean, but this is different. This is Lawrence, the town where demons walk…" He let the sentence hang purposefully, knowing there was no need to push things further. Dean knew in his heart that Lawrence was special. As part of their "training" John had taught them early that it was just a stone's throw from Stull, a place where at certain times of year a "devils' gateway" allowed evil to pass over from the dark side.

The Winchesters had never been able to connect the place to their mom's death, though – not perhaps, until now.

_Tbc.._.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean's lips were dry as he searched his brother's eyes. "What are you trying to say, Sammy?"

"The mothman sightings have only occurred in Lawrence, the closer to Stull cemetery, the more prolific the sightings. Strange lights in the sky, weird noises, telephones ringing, disembodied voices on the line, even unintelligible messages daubed on walls…"

Dean cocked a brow. "You never heard of graffiti?"

"C'mon, Dean, will you let me just finish?" The younger hunter picked up the silver laptop and carried it over to where his brother still sat on his bed. "I've looked up a lot of the original reports by John Keel and it all fits. Mothman have been seen all over the world, not just in Point Pleasant. Apparently, it's a common belief that these things are like portents, warnings of disasters that we can stop. Keel believed they may even be from another plain of existence, and on odd occasions, at certain points around the globe they get a chance to cross over where there is a "weak spot" between worlds."

Dean lay back and placed his hands behind his head. "Dude, you know you could have been a teacher, right? Because you sure can spin crap and make it sound believable." Noting his brother's annoyed grimace he sighed. "Okay, so, say this Keel dude was even half right, why now, why Lawrence?"

"Stull, Dean. What if Stull cemetery is one of the "weak spots?" Let's face it the legend says evil can cross over from there at certain times of year. What if it's not just evil? What if Stull and a few other places around the world are like conduits, allowing good _and_ evil through from other plains?" He turned the laptop. "Look, the first _reported_ Mothman sighting back in 67 was on November 12th. What if there were unreported sightings earlier?"

"November 2nd," Dean's voice was barely audible. Sam was talking about The Day of the Dead, All Souls Day, and the day Mary and Jessica had died at the hands of the demon. The day Stull's "gateway" was said to open. "You think this is something to do with that fiery-eyed bastard that killed mom and Jess, don't you?"

_Why here? Why now? Is it connected to Dad's secret..? _Dean hoped to God it wasn't. He wasn't certain he could deal with that revelation right now.

Sam nodded, wishing his research and reasoning had come up with a better theory. "There's more," he tapped a key and the computer's screen flickered and changed. "Two of the mothman witnesses in Lawrence have since died. Dean, they both burned in their own homes on November 2nd. What's more, I've dug up a few details on the first victim and he had no family. The newspaper report was pretty extensive and it says the guy ironically died exactly the way his parents had when he was just six months old."

"Six months?" Dean's pallor faded to almost grey at the news. This _was _connected to the demon, and it _was_ connected to John's last words. Maybe it was time to face off their nemesis already, but without their dad could they have any chance of winning?

Dean looked away from his brother, images of John filling his head until it almost hurt. John had given up his life so Dean might live and kill the thing that had destroyed their family. He had given his life so that Dean could watch Sam, protect Sam and if the time came…

No. Dean couldn't go there. He couldn't bear to hear those last rumbling tones in his ear one more time. It simply made him fear the demon more. And fear it he should, because it held all the cards.

_Can I face the thing, knowing what it did to me? Knowing I should have died at its hand once already? Knowing the truth about Sammy… _

But really, was their any choice? Dean cleared his throat and reached out to the small table beside his bed. Grabbing his cell, he flipped it open and hit speed dial for "Dr. Badass."

"If the demon's in Kansas, Ash should have seen the signs by now." Dean cupped a hand over the base of his cell while he waited for a ring tone. "The dude was pretty certain he could track the thing."

Sam canted his head in agreement and waited while Dean spent the next five minutes talking to their computer-savvy, if slightly eccentric friend out at the roadhouse. When his brother clipped his cell closed, Sam didn't feel any better than he had only minutes previously.

"He hasn't picked up on anything, has he?"

"Damn, you're good, Sammy. Maybe we should get you doing Tarot and maybe the odd crystal ball reading. I'm sure you'd look great in one of those gypsy gal outfits with the long ear rings…"

"Dean!"

"Okay," the elder hunter conceded. "This sucks out loud. Ash hasn't heard a thing. The program he created is showing nothing to indicate our bad guy's surfaced in Kansas, or anywhere else for that matter."

Sam clipped the laptop closed and rubbed a hand over the fresh growth of stubble he'd yet to shave away. "You know that can't be right. It's in Lawrence, Dean, I _feel_ it. This is about the demon. About what it wants…"

The pleading look of his younger sibling was enough. The puppy dog eyes had always gotten Sammy what he wanted right from an early age, and right now Sam wanted to go home to Lawrence. Maybe if he'd known what waited he would have had second thoughts, but sometimes a little knowledge was a dangerous thing.

_Be careful what you wish for. _The thought bounced around in Dean's head, but he didn't voice it. He would go home with Sam, and maybe they would both die there, but at least then he wouldn't have to carry the secret anymore and there would be no more nightmares where reapers tried to take his soul.

"We'll set out first thing after breakfast." Dean suggested, hiding the dread that had already began to writhe in his belly like a viper readying to strike. "Can't whoop demon ass on an empty stomach, after all."

"Do you ever think of anything but your stomach?" Sam grabbed his rucksack and began tossing clothes in haphazardly with his usual dimpled smiled.

Dean grinned waywardly. "Well, just one other thing…"

Although Kansas was the neighboring state, the ride back to Lawrence was still a long one, and despite Dean's usual protestations, both brothers took turns to drive his beloved Impala.

After sixteen hours straight behind the wheel, Sam had finally taken over from a weary-eyed Dean and had eased off the gas somewhat. Dean wasn't usually a reckless driver, but the idea of returning to the place of his birth once again had only seemed to exacerbate his already erratic behavior.

Kill or cure? Sam couldn't get the one single phrase out of his head as he dared to look across to where his brother had finally drifted off into a fitful slumber, curled into a ball on the Chevy's passenger seat.

"Dean?" Sam softly mouthed his sibling's name as he saw the warning signs appearing for yet another nightmare Dean would never admit to. Eyes darting rapidly beneath closed lids, arms flailing as if the hunter was trying to push away an unseen foe, Sam had seen it all before, and all-too often of late.

Then came the words, slurred but still discernable as Dean fought something from his past and maybe his future too.

"I'm not going…not going with you…"

Sam's brow scrunched and he was tempted to pull over and shake his brother. _Not going where? _The thing was, Dean was just as likely to throw a punch his way as he was to thank his brother for releasing him from his torment. Dean just didn't do "tortured hero" very well, even if in Sam's eyes that was exactly what he was.

Sam stole another glance across the Impala, but continued to ease his foot on the gas as he guided the lumbering car around a particularly tight curve. No, he would let Dean be, it was what his brother would want, nay expect from him.

"Not going…"

Dean repeated the assertion over and over, and in his confused, terrified mind the same lucid scene re-ran until he wanted to just give in to Tessa and be free.

He was at the crossroads, confronting a demon who knew all about the deal John had made. The beautiful, but deadly creature taunted him, wanting him to know his father was trapped in some hellish place there was no escape from, and all because of Dean…

Dean had lived, John had died. A simple equation the son would never forgive himself for. An equation he was reminded of every time he closed his eyes. Every time he heard John's deep but loving voice whisper those furtive last words in his ear.

The nightmare scene shifted, and he was back at the hospital in Missouri, Tessa giving him the choice of leaving the mortal world willingly or…or…

What if he'd chosen sooner? What if he'd accepted his fate the minute he'd seen the reaper's form hovering over his dying body? Maybe then John wouldn't have had time to make any demonic deal. Maybe then John would have lived and he would have gone on to whatever place in the afterlife Tessa had alluded to.

But no, Dean had just had to fight it, hadn't he? Just like everything else in his life he'd not accepted that there wasn't an alternative, a way out, a way to make everything right.

"I'm not going with you…"

Tessa continued to fight her argument, and even though his words had suggested he didn't believe it, Dean had begun to think she was right. Right that he didn't belong in the world anymore, right that he should let go…

But then, things had changed.

As he watched, forced to view the agonizing replay for the hundredth time in his own psyche, the lights began to flicker, and the hellish black mist he associated with demons began to pour into the hospital room.

Tessa pleaded that it wasn't her doing, and he believed her. The demon was here.

_Maybe it doesn't even intend letting me die in peace… _

The oozing raven miasma whirled towards not Dean, but Tessa, and before the young hunter's eyes she turned into something much more than just a reaper.

A smile, an oil-like presence in her eyes, all indicated that even harbingers of death could be possessed by the thing that had taken Mary Winchester and so many others like her.

"_Today's your lucky day, kid…"_

Tessa -- now the demon, stretched out a hand, touching Dean's forehead, and he stumbled backwards, reeling from the same sensation he had once felt in Nebraska. He gasped, and suddenly he was awake, aware that he was choking on the pipe inserted down his airway to keep him alive.

Dean jerked upright in the Impala and clutched at his throat, the memory of the endo tube as vivid as if it had only been a day or so ago.

Today wasn't his lucky day. No day was. In his own way, he was a cursed as Sammy, maybe even more so.

Dean panted; grasping at the car's dash to convince himself he was no longer in Missouri. As his breathing steadied, he dared to look over at Sam. His brother glanced back, but instead of saying a word, simply flicked on the Impala's turn signal and pull off the highway. As the tires came to a halt on the sharp gravel, Manson's _Sweet Dreams _echoed ironically through the speakers.

_Sweet dreams are made of these.  
Who am I to disagree?  
Traveled the world and the seven seas.  
Everybody's looking for something. _

Some of them want to use you.  
Some of them want to get used by you…

"Just a dream," Dean offered stoically as he deftly switched off the tantalizingly offensive tune. "Guess you're not the only one having freaky ones lately, huh?"

"Dean…this is about Dad's secret, isn't it? What could be so bad that it gives you nightmares you can't even talk about? What is it? Your brother's a demon's plaything?" Sam's voice raised and he was tempted to climb out of the car and leave like he once had before, but then, that wouldn't solve anything, except maybe push Dean over the edge he was now precariously dangling from.

Dean's face contorted, but Sam thought he saw a glimmer of sincerity in his response. "It wasn't about you, Sammy, okay?" The elder Winchester shifted uneasily in his seat, but didn't elaborate further. "So, where are we?" He questioned with a raised brow, needing to redirect the conversation even though he'd traveled this section of road a hundred times.

Sam pursed his lips but let the redirection slide. "A few miles from the outskirts of Lawrence. I figured we'd head on over to the latest victim's apartment and check things out before we find a place to stay. I got the address while you were sleeping and figured time was of the essence."

Dean nodded, but the uncertainty in his mind still made him question what they were doing. Mothman, hell, they just freaked him out. Being a hunter he'd learned about them at an early age, some strange half man, half moth creature with glowing red eyes that seemed to haunt certain areas before a disaster hit. But could they really exist? Their dad had been convinced they were just a myth, a figment of society's imagination, but then, John had been wrong about the demise of the vampire population too.

"So," he eventually mumbled whilst delving into the glove box. "What's it to be, cops, FBI, or maybe I could whip us up a couple of fire investigator's ID's?"

Sam flicked the Impala back into gear and slipped back onto the highway. "Sounds good, just no rock surnames, okay?"

Dean's lopsided grin appeared. "Fine, Samantha…I'll just make you Sammy Love Hewitt…should fit you like a glove…"

Sam scowled but didn't respond. He knew it would be no use anyway.

**Eagle Ridge Apartments**

**Eldridge Street, Lawrence**

Dean pushed open the Impala's door and climbed out somewhat stiffly. Sam had convinced him that two Fire Department officials would _not_ be wearing scruffy jeans and a t-shirt and that they needed to dress a little more formally – advice he was already regretting following.

"Dude, how did I let you talk me into _a tie_?" To prove his point, the elder hunter began tugging at the thing around his neck until it hung far looser than intended. Satisfied he stopped his ministrations and let a hand glide into his pocket to retrieve two newly made ID's.

"Just tell me you didn't?" Sam ignored the tie jibe and set his attention on the white tag being flaunted before his eyes. _If that thing says Sammy Love Hewitt I'll… _

Sam moved like lightning and snatched the ID from Dean's hand, quickly thumbing it over to check the "owner's" details. With an outward sigh he smiled. Maybe Dean wasn't such an ass after all. "Thanks," he offered gratefully as he clipped the badge to his top pocket. "I can live with being named after a literary great…"

Dean grinned, looking up at the apartment block they were about to enter. "Yeah, well, just so you know, I named you after Homer Simpson, not the Greek poet, dude…"

"Do'h…" Sam mimicked the character he'd been named after and slapped a hand to his head. "Now why had I already guessed that?"

"Because I'm such an awesome brother?" Dean smirked and then began swaggering towards the nearby building's entrance. As he read the name plaque he stopped. "Eldridge Street?" He raised a brow. "Gotta love the irony. Boy, that's one mystery I'd love to stick my nose into…"

"Huh?" Sam joined his brother but wasn't really paying attention. Something was dulling his senses until he couldn't concentrate on any one thing.

"You know, the "Eldridge?" The whole _Philadelphia Experiment_ thing gone wrong? Don't tell me I know something about history geekboy doesn't?" Dean frowned, and finally spun to face his brother.

Sam had turned a deathly shade of white and was now clutching at his temple – and this time it wasn't because he was imitating Homer Simpson.

"Sam?" Dean took hold of his brother by both shoulders and tried to guide him to a bench on the sidewalk, but Sam resisted. This wasn't like an ordinary vision; it was like someone forcing their way into his skull until he couldn't think or function.

To add to the torment, his cell began to warble out its familiar tune from his pocket. He tried to fumble for it, but even his hands didn't want to function properly.

"Leave it!" Dean's timbre was so imposing he sounded like their dad on a bad day.

Still, Sam pushed away the hastily growled order and paused, struggling to slide a hand down to grab the phone. After a moment, long fingers clamped around the PDA and he tugged it free.

Looking down, Sam blinked, trying to see the caller ID, but his eyes didn't want to focus and the screen appeared as nothing but a blur. It was like a migraine of cosmic proportions. "Shit…"

The younger Winchester pulled away from Dean's worried grip and stumbled back enough to give himself some space to breath. He flipped open the cell with one brief jerk of his thumb and shakily forced it to his ear.

Somehow, even before he picked up on the garbled sounds coming down the line, he knew this was no ordinary call. The headache, the intensity of the moment all meant one thing – this message was from no mortal.

The line crackled as he listened, several abrupt screeching noises giving the illusion that he was simply picking up on a fax machine as it dialed out. Then, the high pitched electrical feedback changed until a voice leaked through the background noise.

The pronunciation was off, like he was talking to someone whose first language wasn't English – no, it was more than that; it was like hearing the sound of some robotic creature on the TV. _Jeez, it's like listening to a Cylon…_

The speaker didn't seem to sense Sam's thoughts and continued, its disembodied verbal style unwavering. "The firs…the firs in wals…firs in wals…"

_Tbc..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for reading, everyone! **

The speaker didn't seem to sense Sam's thoughts and continued, its disembodied verbal style unwavering. "The firs…the firs in wals…firs in wals…"

Sam ignored Dean's panicked expression and simply frowned, the lines on his forehead creasing as he tried to fit together the distorted message from God only knew where. "I don't understand," he pleaded. "What does firs mean?"

As abruptly as it began, the unearthly message came to an end leaving Sam with just a regular dial tone. The hunter took the cell from his ear and stared at it in disbelief, uncertain whether to actually trust he'd heard the bizarre statement or not.

"Sam?" Dean took hold of his brother once more and looked straight in his eyes for signs of recognition. It was as if the younger Winchester was somehow catatonic for a second. "Sam, snap out of it already!"

The raised tone had the desired effect, and rubbing his temple once more, Sam finally closed his phone and refocused on his brother. "Dean, I think I just had a message from them…"

"From who?" Dean's eyes darted to the phone and then back to his disorientated sibling. "Sammy, who was on the phone? Friggin' "Psychics Anonymous" or what?"

Sam paused, swallowing hard before admitting his theory. "I think it was the mothman…I think something is going to happen here in Lawrence, Dean, and I think somehow all the kids like me are linked..."

Dean glanced to his beloved Chevy and then back to the Eagle Ridge apartment block, deciding whether to retreat or continue their research. For now, no one had noticed either brother's odd behavior on the sidewalk, so maybe they could get away with their little ruse – just as soon as he knew what Sam was thinking.

"Linked how?"

Sam finally let go of his head as the pain within subsided, and as he talked made his way towards the nearby building's entrance. "I think maybe all the gifted kids like me are more receptive. That's why two of the first sightings seem to have been made by people like me. That's maybe why I just got the message on my cell…"

Dean ambled alongside his brother, accepting his logic. "So you guys are like easier conduits to them, just like the gateways are? Just like the sick and elderly were in Point Pleasant back in the sixties?"

Sam bobbed his head and pushed the intercom button for one of the apartment block's inhabitants. "Hi, my name's Sam Homer, my partner and I are with Lawrence Fire Department's Prevention Division. We're here to ask you a few questions about the fire here last month…"

There was a short pause and then a buzz as the female occupant answered. "I…I don't really know anything about that. The fire was contained in Mark's apartment."

"Miss Gamble, can we come up and ask a few questions? It's just routine legwork. I promise we won't take too much of your time." Sam put on his best sympathetic voice and was glad the real police and fire department people had long since moved on to newer cases. If they'd still been around, it might have made things difficult.

After a long pause, the building's electronically controlled entrance clicked, signaling it had been opened by the woman they needed to talk to. Sam looked across to his brother, but neither spoke as they made their way to her section of the block.

-------

"Man, crispy or what?" Dean whistled softly as they turned a corner and were abruptly facing Mark Connors apartment door. The frame, along with the door were blackened and charred, and yet the walls surrounding it were completely free from damage.

Yellow police tape still hung loosely across the entrance, warning that this was still considered a crime scene until officially proven otherwise.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Definitely not your normal, every day fire." He turned, checking out the nearby door to Sue Gamble's adjoining apartment. "Think we should talk to the girl first, or check out the damage?"

Dean shook the tiny container that held his lock-picking tools in midair and smiled roguishly before tossing it over to his brother. "I'll take the girl, you start with room…"

Sam let his eyes roll to the ceiling in exasperation but caught their tools of the trade with just one hand. "Why am I _so _not surprised?" He deftly removed the first section of police tape, and with a quick glance around began working on the blackened lock before him. "Man, it would serve you right if she's about eighty with false teeth and an ear horn…"

Dean winked and tapped lightly on Sue Gamble's door. "So not gonna happen, dude. I checked up on her…um…assets while I was waiting in the copy shop." He pursed his lips but they soon curled into a smirk. "Purely research…"

"Riiighttt…" Sam shook his head and as the lock he was working on clicked, vanished into the remains of Mark Connors abode.

As he stepped inside, a small chill ran along the center of his spine, working its way between his shoulders until he couldn't help but shiver. Was this what their house had looked like after the fire?

Instinctively, Sam found himself looking up at the ceiling, but there were no scorch marks or evidence the victim had been pinned there, only a blackened grimy residue from the flames and smoke.

The hunter shook himself and moved on. He was here to solve a puzzle, not relive past nightmares he couldn't prevent.

Glancing around again to check for any unearthly presence, he tugged Dean's home-made EMF from his pocket and began to sweep the dead man's home. The dial remained annoyingly static as he paced from room to room until he found the epicenter of the blaze.

Connors' bed was nothing more than a burnt out hulk of springs on the floor, but it was obviously where the young man had met his maker.

Sam kneeled, running a hand along the mass of twisted metal in the hope it would give up some much needed clue. _Why is it always the bedroom?_ Again, the hunter looked up, but there was still nothing to help him stop this happening again. No pointers to exactly which demon they were dealing with.

Sam sighed and jammed the meter back in his pocket. Their nemesis was immune to holy water; probably a puny EMF had no chance of detecting him.

Disillusioned, the younger Winchester stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and headed back out to the main corridor. If Dean hadn't held off flirting with Sue Gamble long enough to find a clue, they were about to hit their first brick wall.

Dean flashed his fake ID at the young woman, along with the notoriously mischievous grin that had won him so many hearts. This time, it didn't quite have the desired effect.

Sue Gamble unlocked her door, but kept the chain latched while she peered through the gap, seemingly terrified. "I…I told your partner, I really don't know anything…"

Dean smiled again, determined to break the ice and make the woman talk to him. She looked about twenty-five and definitely his type – pretty, athletic, and all the right curves. Except right now, saying she was having a bad hair day was an understatement. In fact, from the smell of liquor and her slightly "off" behavior, he suspected Sue Gamble had been drinking steadily for the past month. Considering what had happened to her neighbor, maybe she had.

"We have to find out what happened here, ma'am. Surely you understand if faulty wiring was the route cause you could be in danger too? We have to cover every angle." Dean moved closer to the door, hoping the young woman would succumb and open it if she believed there was a threat to the building.

"It wasn't faulty wiring…" Sue stepped back, her eyes flying to the chain and then to Dean as if she was in mortal danger simply by speaking about the fire.

Dean cocked his head. Sue might be half inebriated, but she also knew something about the blaze that had killed Mark Connors, something that was scaring her so badly she had retreated into some drunken stupor rather than face it.

The hunter's tone visibly changed. "We can help you. There's no need to be afraid. All you have to do is tell me and my partner what happened and we can protect you."

Sue half choked as she broke into an uncontrolled fit of laughter. "You can protect me? What do you think I'm afraid of? Some guy with a can of fuel and a match?" She retreated further into the room, leaving the door still ajar so that Dean could see inside. She was trying to pour a Scotch, but her hands were shaking so hard the liquid simply spilled out onto the floor.

"That's it, play times over…" Dean stepped back, kicking out at the door with his boot until the flimsy metal chain holding it snapped and the door slammed inwards.

Sue dropped the bottle in her hand and simply stood in the center of the apartment like a deer stunned by oncoming headlights. "It'll come back for me…don't you see? I saw _it_…" her voice trembled uncontrollably, as did her knees.

Without worrying about the possible ramifications, Dean wrapped an arm around her, taking her weight until he could guide her to the nearest chair. "It's alright. I think I know why you're scared…"

Dean glanced around as he removed his jacket, placing it across Sue's shoulders. The young woman's apartment was a mess, but under all the trash were the remains of a once tidy, fashionable home. Whatever had caused her spiral into the depths of a bottle had been recent, just like the fire. _She saw it! She actually saw the thing that killed Dad, Mom and Jess and lived to tell the tale. _

"Man, did you have to kick the door off its hinges?" Sam stood in what was left of the doorframe, his arms outstretched in despair at his brother's lack of restraint. When he noted Sue quivering in Dean's arms, he cut off any further sarcasm and quickly walked over. "You scared her half to death like this? Or did she just watch _American Idol _before breakfast?"

Sue smiled a little at the hunter's quip, but still didn't speak. What could she tell two fire investigators? _I saw something on the stairs. Some **thing**, not someone…_If they didn't already think she was a drunken liar, they soon would.

"She saw _it_ the night of the fire." Dean shot his brother a glance, but didn't loosen his grip on Sue. She needed to feel protected if they were going to get her to talk.

Sam leaned closer, kneeling so that he was at eye-level with the girl. "Sue, what did you see? It doesn't matter if it sounds crazy. We believe you."

"It'll come back for me…it knows I saw it…"

"No, no it won't," Sam persuaded. "We'll take you away from here until it's over. We know a place were you'll be safe…"

Dean looked at Sam with a quirky expression that said "we do?" But he didn't outwardly say it. If Sam had a plan, that was good enough.

"How do you know I'll be safe?" Sue hunched her shoulders, but her body was shaking less as she finally believed the young man whose voice alone soothed her soul.

"Because we'll take you to a friend, one that knows how to ward off evil. You can trust us," Sam cajoled. "And you can trust our friend. She's an expert at what she does. Now, tell us what you saw the night of the fire so we can help…"

Sue swallowed, feeling her throat go dry until she wanted to beg for more liquor. Her eyes looked to the empty bottle she had recently dropped, and she breathed in heavily. This was the first time she'd told anyone the truth, and it was hard.

Memories of the building's fire alarm exploded in her mind, and she shuddered anew. It had been close to midnight, she'd been watching the TV, glass of wine in hand when the klaxon had begun to wail.

Panicking, Sue had tossed down the glass and headed for the door, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor without slipping. In the corridor, the sprinkler system had already kicked in, although she could see no outward signs of a fire. Maybe it was just a drill?

Sue recalled spouting a few curse words as she'd begun to scurry down the stairs rather than dare take the elevator. If this was a drill, she'd tear somebody a new one for their timing.

As she'd reached the bottom of the first flight of steps, Sue had paused to catch her breath, and it was then she had realized she was not alone. Someone else was in front of her, running down the second stairwell. _Was it running, or gliding?_

On impulse, she'd reached over and called out, thinking it was most probably Mark, her neighbor. But it was not Mark that had looked back up at her from below, not Mark, not any human…

Sue began to cry, curling up into Dean's jacket until her hitched sobbing and cowering posture made even the hardened hunter soften and want to pull her closer.

"What did you see on the stairwell, Sue?"

"A man in a long, dark overcoat…at least, I thought it was a man at first. Then when…when he looked up at me and I saw his face…" Sue brushed away more tears, but her voice still cracked with fear as she finished. "It was the face of evil…eyes glowing like the fire he'd made. Eyes of flame, and features almost feline…"

Sam's brow cocked. "Feline?" He offered up a hanky.

Sue nodded, using the handkerchief to wipe her reddening face. "It was almost like looking at a cat…"

-----

**Outside Missouri Moseley's Residence**

**Lawrence, Kansas **

Dean tapped on the Impala's steering wheel impatiently as he waited for his brother to return to the car. The young Winchester had taken Sue Gamble into Missouri's humble abode some forty minutes previously, and had yet to come back out.

No doubt Missouri was plying the pair with cakes, tea and stories from beyond the outer limits.

Dean huffed, knowing it was his own fault he'd waited outside. There was no reason why he couldn't have gone in with Sammy and the girl, but after his last encounter with Missouri he had the distinct feeling the first thing he'd get was a cuff around the ear and some verbal abuse for his trouble.

Missouri was smart, and above all else she had the ability to tell what Dean was thinking to the point where he dare not open his mouth in her presence. Maybe if she knew his thoughts of late she wouldn't be so quick to judge. Maybe she'd want to curl up and hide from the darkness that had crept into his soul.

Still, Dean's dreams, his nightmares, they didn't matter anymore, not now, because he at last believed he had found the demon. Convincing Sam that he was right might be the hard part, but in the end Sammy would yield, he always did for Dean.

The Impala's passenger door swung open and Sam deposited his gangly frame down on the seat, eliciting a small groan from the prehistoric springs. "Sue's all settled with Missouri. I think between us we finally convinced her she's safe here…"

"Is she really?" Dean shook his head, checking out Missouri's home from his side mirror. "Is anyone safe anywhere, Sammy while this thing is out there?"

Sam didn't have an answer. They were one step closer to their foe, but what good did "knowing" do? The demon had fried two special kids because they'd witnessed a mothman, exactly what the hell did that prove? It sure didn't bring them the demon's ass all neatly wrapped with a ribbon and bow on it, did it now?

"We're closer, Dean…" The thing was, did Sam want to be closer? Did he want to risk Dean being eviscerated before his eyes again?

"Damn straight we're closer. Sam, I think I finally figured out the sonofabitch we're dealing with. Think about it. The girl said it had _feline_ features. Sound familiar? C'mon, dude, feline _and_ yellow-eyed?"

"Flauros?" Sam wasn't impressed. "Dean, Dad discounted him years ago. He doesn't fit our demon's M.O."

"Dude, hello? Fire demon, fire demon with yellow eyes that in the old days took the form of a leopard. Leopard as in cat, as in _feline_…" Dean was getting frustrated. He'd never been patient, but since John's death he had no tolerance for time wasting, period. "Besides, you got a better theory, geekboy?"

Sam hadn't. Maybe he didn't want a theory at all. Maybe, just maybe, Dean had been right back in Oregon. They should have driven away from the demon, not towards it. He had wanted this, begged for it, but now they were getting close he could see what was left of his family being torn apart forever. _Why won't he tell me Dad's damn secret? What if I need to know to deal with this? What if..?_

"Even if you're right, and it is Flauros, what good is a name without the Colt? I researched this thing too, Dean, remember? Thirty-six legions of demons under his command, a great Duke in hell who basically kicks ass just slightly less than Satan himself. What do you plan on doing, invite him over for dinner and spike his fries with sanctified ketchup..?"

Dean couldn't at look Sam. Sometimes one glance towards his brother was enough to make his best plans melt away like Colorado snow in the spring. "You got the invite part right." He looked down to his lap, anywhere but to Sammy.

"Invite? Dean, now way! You want to summon this damn thing?" Sam's demeanor changed instantly from amazement to out and out incredulity. "Don't you remember anything that happened back at the cabin? You know, like being pinned to a wall or bleeding to death from the inside out?" He was angry now, angry that his brother could even consider trying to evoke Flauros when they had nothing to fight him with.

"I remember." The sentence was abrupt. Final.

Dean's throat bobbed convulsively as he reflexively swallowed several times in quick succession, thoughts resurfacing of the nightmares, the truth that he should have died that night and hadn't.

_What's it going to be..? _

_What's it going to be..? _

The elder hunter turned to his brother. The brother he kept a secret from that could tear them apart. He smirked, but it wasn't the mirthful offering Sam was used to, it was muted, dulled by the psychological pain Dean had endured and bottled up inside. "Don't worry, little brother. I've got a kick ass plan for this mother…"

_Tbc..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Dooley's Meat Co Inc**

**Abandoned Refrigeration Plant, Lawrence**

Muted light from the crescent moon seeped through gaps in the broken windows, causing shadows to dance across the open concrete floor like playful wraiths.

Dust covered every leftover piece of machinery and equipment like a death shroud, but then, this had once been a place of death – for animals, at least.

Dean Winchester ran a finger through the grime and then looked around, searching out a spot on the open flooring that best suited his needs. The center of the area seemed somehow fitting, and he ambled towards it as if he had all night.

Finding the central point, he kneeled, brushing away dirt and grunge until his palm was filthy, but the painted grey flooring was revealed in all its glory.

"Dean, are you sure about this?" The trepidation in Sam's voice was clear as he joined his brother, eyes scanning every darkened corner of the plant for signs of unwelcome visitors. "I mean, maybe there's some other way?"

The elder hunter shook his head, but didn't look up. Instead, he slipped a hand inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a solitary white piece of chalk. He held it up to the cascading moonlight, admiring how something so simple could evoke something so deadly.

Satisfied, his hand then moved to his ankle holster and he unsheathed his favorite hunting knife. The serrated edge glistened, cruelly teasing him with its recently sharpened blade.

"There's no other way, Sammy." His tone was gruff, to the point, focused. "You know what we have to do."

Placing the knife on the concrete, Dean once again put his attention on the chalk and began drawing a carefully memorized symbol onto the floor. The sigil had to be perfect. He concentrated, his brow furrowing as he painstakingly recreated the pictogram in all its glory. At each point there was a circle, he placed a small candle inside and lit it.

Once complete, he shuffled back, encircling the sigil with a large chalk triangle. At its base, he slid a small pot filled with acacia, oil of abramelin and more.

"Are you sure…"

"It'll work, Sammy, trust me." Dean leaned low, grabbing his knife from the floor and taking a long breath before standing back beside his brother.

This was the moment they had waited for, and all they had to do was say a few words, make a blood offering and they would have their enemy before them.

Sam felt his heart begin to throb in his chest. They'd been in this position before. Hell, they'd even had the Colt that time. Would the tiny fact that they had actually summoned the fiery-eyed bastard really make all that much difference now?

Dean clenched the knife hilt in his hand, perspiration making his grip feel less secure. He sensed the foreboding thoughts Sam was experiencing, and his own nerves mirrored them. It was time.

The elder hunter stepped forward, letting his shadow fall over the triangle and sigil within. He took a breath and then opened his hand, making a quick slicing motion with the hunting knife across his palm until a slick trail of blood followed it. He squeezed, forcing the oozing red liquid to dribble onto the chalk representation on the floor.

As the blood dripped onto its intended target, Dean began to chant in Latin, slowly at first, his thick tone almost making the words unintelligible. Then, as he recalled the precise evocation from John's diary, he began to talk faster, wanting, willing, urging the demon to appear.

While Dean continued the unholy mantra, Sam stepped forward, striking a match and letting it fall into the pot they had prepared at the triangle's base. The tiny flame hit the oils within and erupted, sending a white glaring arch of sparks high off the ground like some tiny Fourth of July display.

As the mini lightshow fizzled out, Dean's evocation ritual was finally over and he began to breathe hard. "Where is that freaky sonofabitch?" he murmured, eyes shifting to the darkness that enveloped them and then back to the chalk marks he'd so painstakingly scrawled.

"Are you sure you drew it right? One piece out of place and…" Sam was edgy; he could almost feel an electrical charge building in the air around them – something he hadn't even felt back at the cabin in Missouri.

"Dude, do I look like freakin' Picasso?" Dean spun the knife in his hand, the twisting motion somehow calming his nerves almost as much as humming Metallica did.

"Well, considering Picasso was into cubism…"

Dean didn't see the funny side. "Ha freakin' ha…you and your art course shi…" he stopped mid-sentence, the breath suddenly sucked from his lungs as someone – something finally stepped from the shadows.

The thing smiled at them, eyes pulsing a mesmerizing mix of orange and red hues that seemed to flicker and dance like flames as it sauntered into the triangle they had prepared for it.

"It's nice to finally meet you boys. I've heard so much about you…" The creature whose features seemed half-human, half-feline smirked, its cheeks bulging until Dean couldn't help but think "Cheshire cat."

"Finally?" The oldest Winchester's face contorted in out-and-out scorn. "I thought you'd have remembered Missouri a littler more clearly." He spat now, thinking of John, of the nightmares, of the secret he carried. "You know, in the cabin, when we talked about how I wasted your kids. Tell me, when they aren't possessing a human, are they all fugly sons of bitches like you?"

Flauros still smiled, his expression unwavering as insult after insult was bandied his way. "Missouri?" he paced from corner to corner of the triangle, putting a hand to his mouth mockingly as if he had to think hard about the place in question. "Hmmn, I'm afraid I haven't been to be Missouri, boys. At least, not this century…"

Sam moved closer to the chalk marks on the floor, his eyebrows arching up in surprise. Invoking Flauros within the triangle was supposed to force the demon under their control. He, it, was under their command now, and one of the rules of the demonic game was that he couldn't lie to them. If they'd carried out the incantation correctly, then something was gravely wrong.

"You're supposed to answer questions of past, present and future truthfully while under our power…" Sam flinched, his dimples vanishing to be replaced by a look of utter despair. "How can you say you've never met us before when…"

"Oh, I would have thought a smart college boy like you would have worked out the math by now." Flauros continued to pace, his boots dragging across the concrete as if he were trying to wear an escape route through the floor. "Apparently, the dogged, but somewhat underwhelming Winchesters have the _wrong _demon…"

Silence filled the derelict meat plant. After all they had been through, after all they'd discovered, could they be wrong?

"If you're not the one who killed Mom, Jess, Dad…" Sam cringed at the words. Talking to this thing was like talking to a multiple serial killer, only worse. "If you're not the one who came for me as a child, why are you here killing other gifted kids? Why Lawrence? Why the mothman witnesses?" _Why now?_ _Why…?_ Too many questions poured from his subconscious, too much to put together and make sense of. _Too much to assimilate…_

Flauros' lips quirked upwards. Sometimes being forced to tell the truth was so much fun when it allowed mental and physical torture of the enemy. It was almost worth being trapped in the triangle to be able to manipulate at such a level. "Even demons pay their debts, Samuel. Something you'll learn in time. You see, I owed a fellow demon a favor or two over the millennia, and as you know, we demons always collect."

Dean almost choked in disgust. The thing before him was beyond contempt, beyond anything. If _it _hadn't taken John, it was part of the whole collective that had. He wanted to pounce on it, squeeze its throat until there was no more air left in its demonic lungs. But then, that wouldn't kill it anyway. "So, you owed a debt? Who the hell to? 'Cause I'm telling you, I owe him big time…and he's gonna pay…" His eyes shone with such hatred they almost matched the demon's. "And the mothman, are they in on this too? 'Cause I can kick bug ass any day of the week, just ask around in Oasis Plains."

"A colleague." Flauros stopped pacing, his amusement dulling as the questions moved a little closer to home. "I'm merely paying my debt to a _colleague._ Just like Reshef paid his debt in River Grove with the "test." As for mothman? A quaint name, somewhat amusing even, but not part of my brethrens plans."

"But they exist, and they're here, aren't they, you bastard? Why? And why did you kill those gifted kids who saw them? Why does you friend want them dead?" Dean paused to take a breath and the demon's admissions finally sank in

_I'm merely paying my debt to a colleague. Just like Reshef paid his debt in River Grove with the "test."_

The elder hunter felt his blood begin to boil. His cheeks began to redden and he moved closer to the edge of the chalk, wishing Flauros would dare to try and cross. "You freak, you know what happened in Oregon with the virus, don't you? And what do you mean by "test"? I swear, you better start squealing or…"

"…the mothman are like prophets." Flauros struggled with the words, reminding the brothers of the time they had exorcized Meg. The demon within her hadn't wanted to give answers, but had been forced too, just like now. "The gifted children are easy receptacles for them. Children like you pick up on their messages so easily…"

"And your friend doesn't want that? He doesn't want anyone getting the messages, does he?" Sam could see where the conversation was going, and he didn't like the implications.

"No, my "colleague" doesn't want the mothman's message getting through to anyone who might be able to make sense of it. His plans are too precious to be revealed at this stage." Flauros sneered, making it quite clear he may be working for another demon, but that he wasn't happy about it. "He is busy elsewhere, and has commanded that to repay my debt I must "remove" the gifted children from the equation. Like a demonic hitman, if you will…"

"And River Grove? How was that zombie freak town any part of this?" Dean's voice quivered. They were getting answers, but none of it was making sense.

Flauros sighed. "That test was for Sam and Sam alone."

"I don't care about your friend's plans for me. The test, all of it doesn't matter until I'm sure more lives aren't at stake." Sam stood his ground, his insides churning at the repeated mention of Oregon, while his outer façade remained reasonably centered. "Mothman only usually foretell _huge_ disasters…what the hell is your buddy planning?"

Flauros began to pace again. Too much was being revealed, and his friend, nay master, would not be happy. It wouldn't matter that he was being coerced, controlled even, he was telling secrets that should not be spoken of outside of hell. Of course, he knew other secrets – secrets that would break the remaining Winchester family right at its core. Secrets he could use to deflect the conversation.

"It's funny, you boys ask so many questions about others when there are so many things you could ask for yourselves. Your father, perhaps? Don't you wonder about him? Where he is? What pain he has to endure every single day at the hands of my kind…"

"You bastard!" Dean's muscled tensed, every part of him wanting to spring on the demon and rip its heart out. But then, would that be killing an innocent if the demon had taken a human host? Somehow, some inner self control took hold and he held back – just. "I've heard enough of this crap from the crossroads demon. Your kind lie your asses of and expect us to believe it…"

"Dean!" Sam forced a trembling hand in front of his brother as he realized the elder Winchester was on the verge of snapping. _All he's been through..._ "Dean, he can't lie…" he looked to his sibling pleadingly and then focused on the demon. No matter what Flauros was up to, he had to know about John, they both did. It was the one thing that had haunted them since his death. "What about dad?" Sam stammered, his heart already clenching as he expected to hear the worst.

"My colleague had a real fun time with you Winchesters in Missouri, but taking John's soul so easily? That was just _so_ peachy. The great hunter reduced to a begging wreck and all for just one pathetic life…" Flauros let his mouth twist into a deranged feline grin as he fixed his gaze on Dean.

"Dad died for me. If I could change it I would." Dean's fingers flexed over the knife hilt again, wanting, needing to kill every demon Hades had spawned. "At least he died with honor. Something you bastards don't even understand…"

"Oh, but it was your father's own fault…such a pointless offering." Flauros let his swirling, burning eyes eat into Dean's conscience. "Dying for someone who didn't even need saving…"

The last jibe was too much. Too much pain, too many memories.

Dean bolted across the concrete, skidding along the chalk marks until he grabbed his foe by the throat. If he'd had the strength to lift the thing off its feet, he would have. Instead, he squeezed, enjoying the tactile sense of his enemy's windpipe closing beneath his grasp, even though Flauros didn't flinch.

_Dying for someone who didn't even need saving…_

The remark burned into his mind, eating, eroding at his confidence as if John had said the words. Was he that worthless?

"What do you mean didn't need saving?" He eventually spat, tugging the thing around until its pointed features were bathed in the stark light seeping through the broken rafters above.

"Those dreams you've been having? They're very real, boy. But what you don't know? You almost gave your life away at the word of a demon. Tessa was never a reaper, Dean. She was my friend's daughter, just like the one who took over Meg…"

Dean's grip faltered. Flauros was bound to tell the truth. "Can't be…"

Flauros nodded. "Oh, but she was, Dean, and you fell for her every word, her every illusion. When your soul left your body, my colleague sent her to lure you to go with her. If you had agreed to "pass over" with her, you would have been selling your soul without even knowing it. You would have been killing yourself and gaining a one way ticket to where your father now resides." The thing smirked. "But then maybe, the way you feel lately you would have appreciated that…"

Sam's jaw dropped. "We must have done the incantation wrong. He has to be lying…"

"Not lying, telling the truth, and don't it hurt like a bitch, Sammy?" Flauros was enjoying the game again now. He owned the Winchesters, and while they waited on his every word, his every new revelation, it gave more windows of opportunity for an escape. "My colleague thought he might be able to get Dean's soul before he could return to his earthly body. You see, you should have returned after you flat lined, but Tessa managed to dissuade you with her lies and her reaper apparition. Then, things took a real interesting turn when John boy offered himself up. John and the Colt for free. My friend didn't even have to save Dean, because he was never going to die – not unless he was dumb enough to take Tessa's offer…"

Dean felt the muscles in his legs begin to quake and it was all that he could do to stop his knees buckling. His hands dropped from the demon's collar and his anger, his wrath turned to utter defeat. Thinking John had died for him had been bad enough, but to know his father had died for nothing, tricked by the very demon who had haunted their family, it was just too much.

"If I was meant to live naturally, answer me this? How did my injuries heal so fast?" The voice was muted, dulled by the truth.

Flauros let a hand slide to his neck and let his fingers play over his throat where Dean had tried to throttle him. "You should ask your brother that question. Didn't you ever wonder how he survived the River Grove virus? I know you have. I know it eats away at you, just like the secret you carry…"

Sam watched as Dean succumbed to the demon's words. Watched as his brother changed from warrior to a feeble shell of a man that had lost all the fight, all the determination until there was nothing left.

What was worse, _he_ had made this happen.

Sam felt the same pain as his brother, knew how Flauros' words had cut deep inside just as acutely as any blade. And it was _his_ fault. The secret, the River Grove virus, the visions – they all lead to the demon.

Dean glanced up and saw the haunted look in his brother's eyes. The loss, the pain, the _guilt. _ It was a look he didn't want to see ever again. A look that finally sent the elder hunter over the precipice he'd been hovering over for so long.

"You sonofa…" Dean's deflated ego returned to its former self with a vengeance. Flauros had to pay, every demon in hell did, and he was going to make it his personal mission to see it happened.

Even though he knew a mere mortal's punch was useless, Dean lashed out, sending a right hook straight to Flauros' jaw. The demon was pushed back by the unexpected and powerful blow, his boots skidding through the chalk marks until they smeared the drawing, making the triangle no longer complete.

The break in the line was all that Flauros needed. Freed from the trap, he was liberated from the brothers' control and able to turn into his true form, vanishing into the shadows in a black palpating miasma.

"Dean!" Sam couldn't think. His brain didn't want to react to the situation. There were no rules as to what to do next. No way to accept what they'd been told. _Dad died for nothing. _

Dean didn't need to be psychic to sense his brother's thoughts. _Not for nothing, Sammy, for my worthless ass. If I'd used my brain, if I'd realized Tessa wasn't a reaper…I could have been back in my body before dad had a chance to…to…_

The hunter looked at the disturbed chalk marks. Maybe they had lost Flauros, but it wouldn't be hard to find him again, and find him they must. Demons always kept to their contracts, and that meant Flauros had to pay his debt to whoever the big bad was.

"Now what?" Sam brushed a hang through his shaggy mop of hair and cast a sideways glance to the doorway. "I mean, where next?"

At first, Dean didn't even hear the words.

"Dean? We should go back to the motel…"

"Huh?" Dean turned, trying to hide the pain in his heart. _Dad died for nothing_. "Sam, if there are anymore kids like you out there and the mothman have visited them, Flauros is bound to pay his debt and try to fry their asses. We don't have time to worry about our own bleeding hearts. We gotta stop this freak and find out who is calling the shots."

Sam nodded. "Flauros knows we're on to him. If he has anymore kids to kill, he'll do it fast. We need to check if there were any more witnesses and get to them before he does."

Dean kneeled and slipped his hunting knife back into its sheath. "I hear ya." He tipped his head towards the broken down exit door. "Laptop's in the trunk, let's get to it."

_You should ask your brother that question. Didn't you ever wonder how he survived the River Grove virus? I know you have. I know it eats away at you, just like the secret you carry… _

Sam heard Dean's words, but it was the demon's oratory that had his attention. It seemed the whole dark underworld knew about him, knew the secret, and yet he was forced to suffer, never knowing the fate that seemed to have been preordained.

Eventually, his throat bobbed and he managed a strained response to his brother, but his mind still reveled in Flauros' evil anecdote. "I think there were at least four more sightings. There's no way to know which might be one of the gifted kids."

Dean pulled down his trouser leg and scrambled up. "Yeah, well then we go to plan B."

"We have a plan B?" Sam edged outside into the dull light and glanced warily around before heading for the Impala.

"Sure," Dean smirked, flipping the car's keychain from his pocket in a false show of bravado. _Died for nothing…_ "We guess our asses off and hope for a miracle…"

_tbc..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Hillview Apartments**

**Early the next day…. **

Dean eased open the door of the one-bedroomed abode and carefully poked his head around the frame. Inside, the apartment was in darkness, but that didn't mean there wasn't a Rottweiler somewhere waiting to chow down on his leg.

The hunter let a hand glide down either side wall until his fingers met the familiar shape of a light switch and he flicked it, immersing the room in a soft opaline glow.

"Looks like nobody's home…" He stepped quickly inside, allowing Sam enough room to follow and quietly click the door shut behind them. "You sure this is our next victim?"

Sam bit his bottom lip but nodded. Tim DaNozza looked to be a perfect match. He was a local student just a little younger than Sam, he'd lost both parents at six months, and he was the latest witness to the whole Lawrence mothman phenomenon. "It has to be DaNozza. The other witnesses were either too old or still had living parents."

_Living parents…_Sam didn't allow the sting the words caused to show on his features. Flauros had gotten to him. Hell, the thing had gotten to them both. It was better that Dean didn't have to see that in his brother right now.

Dean peeked into the bedroom and grinned at what he saw; unaware of what his sibling was suffering. While the rest of the apartment was clean and tidy, their guy's bedroom looked like the back seat of the Impala on a bad day.

Several crumpled beer cans littered Tim's bedside table, and an abundance of creased, discarded clothes covered the floor.

"I'm thinking Tim is my kind of party animal…"

Sam sighed. "He isn't going to be any kind of animal if Flauros finds him before we do."

"Well, party boy isn't home yet, if he's Flauros' next target, that's good news." Dean closed the bedroom door and moved on into the kitchen. Spotting the refrigerator, he quickened his pace. He'd had little to eat since before summoning the demon, and his stomach was churning up a storm. "Aw, man, that's just gross…"

Sam's staid expression crumpled and he broke into a grin. Dean had opened the refrigerator door to find most of the items inside were green enough to have cultured a year's supply of penicillin. "Hey, I've seen you eat worse," he declared with a look that said "don't deny it."

Dean slammed the heavy door closed and moved on towards the nearest cupboard. "Yeah, but I wasn't sober." He leaned down, intent on searching for more food when something made him pause. His eyes darted around the tiny work area until they settled on an air conditioning vent in the far corner. "Sammy…"

Sam saw the flash of recognition on his brother's face and instantly followed his gaze. At first, he had assumed quite wrongly that the startled look meant Tim was home, but now, he could see it was something far more dangerous.

Seeping through the vent was a billowing black smog that undulated and writhed until it began to take human form.

As the midnight-black elements began to coalesce together it moved forward, spawning a trail of iridescent, smoking flames in its wake.

"Dean! Move!" Sam yelled across the kitchen as the scene suddenly turned into the nightmare scenario he'd been so afraid of all his life.

Dean didn't flinch, he simply waited. Flauros had come here to take a life, but he wouldn't be granted that wish. Dean would see the thing back to hell first, even if it meant he took a one-way trip with it. _Dad died for nothing…I won't let another innocent life be wasted that way…_

_What's it going to be..?_

Tessa's voice abruptly gnawed into his subconscious, dissolving his composure, but he fought it. She had been a lie. It all had, and he'd be damned if he was controlled by a demon like that ever again.

"Show yourself, you sonofabitch!"

"Dean forget the damn demon, the fire's spreading!" Sam watched in fascinated horror as the flames from Flauros seemed to spread outwardly across the kitchen as if gasoline had been tossed on the floor.

The ever-increasing carpet of orange and yellow hues seemed not only to emanate from the demon's presence, but seemed to feed off it, suggesting Flauros was the main source of combustion in the room.

The fire was surrounding them, trapping them in a prison of smoke and flame, and Dean didn't even seem to notice.

"It's nice to see you again so soon, boys." Flauros was nothing more than a fiery shell now, flames licking over every limb on his demonic body until only the evil feline eyes remained truly visible. He lifted a blazing hand, making a small, sarcastic salute to the Winchesters. "Touché, my friends. It would seem you're worthy adversaries after all." He laughed, his scorching cackle sending a fresh shower of sparks across the already blazing apartment. "Of course, I will still find DaNozza…"

"Not if we find him first…" Dean moved forward, closer to the ever-growing flames, closer to Hades, maybe_. He likes to taunt us, I can use that…_

The elder hunter was so close to the demon he could feel the heat emanating across the room, scorching, searing, destroying. He could sense the oxygen being sapped from the atmosphere, leaving nothing but the choking, acrid smoke of death. _There's no triangle. He won't be forced to tell the truth here…and yet, he will if I face him… _

Dean felt Sam's huge hands slide around his left arm and begin to pull. Sam wanted out. He wanted to escape without ever knowing the truth, but Dean just couldn't let it go at that.

Dean tensed, fighting his brother's strength to stay within spitting distance of the demon. Sam didn't understand. How could he? _Dad died for me…my worthless ass…for nothing…for this…_

"You know, don't you? You know the way the future plays out. You know whether we defeat the other yellow-eyed bastard?" Dean lunged towards the demon, not caring if its fiery mass engulfed him. At the last moment, Sam's tenuous, desperate grip held him back until tears began to form in his eyes – not from the smoke, but from anger. "How did I live back in Missouri? How did we live in River Grove..?"

Flauros seemed to inhale, smoke billowing into his ungodly nasal passages instead of out as he savored the scent of fear in his foes. "Your brother is the key to everything. He could even have saved your father when he flatlined, if only he'd known…"

"Known what?" Dean's plea remained unanswered.

Flauros turned, his inner flaming mass growing until he was nothing more than a ball of pure, white-hot energy. Around him, carpets burned and electrical items exploded, sending shards of deadly metal flying through the air.

"Dean!" Sam lunged at his brother and tackled him to the floor, the pair narrowly avoiding a section of airborne shrapnel from Tim's stereo system. _If it means punching Dean out to get him to leave…_

Dean struggled, wafting at his jacket as a stray ember landed on his sleeve and began to burn through.

"Dean, will you just friggin' let it go!" Dean finally nodded, gulping down stale air that had long since been fit to breath as Sam tugged him back up to his feet. "The door…we have to..."

Dean agreed with a bob of his head, coughing as he stole one last glance towards Flauros.

The demon was pure fire now – his element, and soon, he would engulf the apartment and the Winchesters with it if they didn't escape.

_Your brother is the key to everything_

Dean didn't care if he died here, but for Sam, he made a dive for the door, dodging fiery, sizzling tendrils as they licked across the apartment's main room.

Sam made it to the doorway first and instinctively turned back. He had to be sure Dean was following. He had to be sure big brother wasn't trying anything stupid.

Putting a hand over his eyes from the glare, Sam realized all-too late that escape had perhaps evaded them after all. Just as Dean was in an arm's length of the corridor, the thing that had once been Flauros' earthly form exploded.

It was like a tiny atom bomb detonating in a bright flash of white light.

Sam felt the energy as the fire in the room intensified and seemed to blow outward towards him – towards a very exposed Dean.

The blast only lasted seconds, maybe less, but as Sam's body was lifted from the floor and blown backwards into the hallway, he was forced to watch as Tim DaNozza's apartment was turned into ashes and his brother was tossed by the crescendo like a rag doll.

_Dean! _

The younger brother's mind screamed out in panic, in fear. Why was he always so helpless? Why did Mother Nature always make sure it was Dean who drew the short straw?

_Your brother is the key to everything_

Maybe Sam was the key. Maybe his current gifts hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of what he was capable of, but right now, Sam felt numb, useless.

The sensation continued for all of a millisecond. Then, the back of Sam's skull impacted with the far corridor wall, his body crumpling as he slid to the floor into welcome oblivion.


	7. Chapter 7

**Firstly, Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Every little comment is worth its weight in gold to us writers. :)**

**Secondly, I'd like to say sorry for not having this finished before _Hunted_ airs. I had planned on my version of the "secret" coming out before Mr. Kripke's did, but alas the story was just too big! If the secrets are even close, sorry! I really have had this story planned and outlined for weeks, and it's just unfortunate if it mirrors the show too much (although I doubt it) Anyhow, thanks again for sticking with me!**

----

Something smelled like it was burning. _Toast maybe? _

Sam's nose twitched mechanically, his mind drifting slowly back towards consciousness. As the odors became more distinct he winced. _Definitely not toast._ _Just what is Jess cooking this time..?_

Images of the girl he'd once loved, maybe always would danced inside his skull, invading his mind, torturing his soul. Except, Jess wasn't cooking, at least, not in the culinary sense. She was pinned to the ceiling, flames engulfing her perfect form as she screamed out his name over and over again…

Sam's limbs felt like lead. The room was burning around him, but he couldn't leave, not without Jess. Someone was pulling him, no dragging him away, but he didn't want to go. He cried out, arms outstretched as the overpowering stench of burnt flesh assaulted his senses. "Dean, no…"

Dean was ignored the pleas, heaving his brother's almost dead weight towards the door, towards safety…

_Dean! _

Sam's eyelids snapped open as the sudden realization hit home that the burning building he was in wasn't at Stanford. Jess was gone, and maybe now Dean was too.

The lofty hunter's vision skewed at his abrupt awakening and then slowly began to refocus. He tried to move, but his arms felt like they were pinned to his sides.

Sam tried again, realizing the thing that was holding him down was soft, fleshy…

_Dean!_

_Not dead weight…please… _

An elbow jutted into Sam's ribs as Dean rolled unexpectedly. "Sweetheart, do you always take up both sides of the bed…"

"Dean?" Sam exhaled at the sound of his brother's voice and carefully pushed his still groggy sibling clear so he could check on him. "Man, did you have to land on me?"

"Huh?" Dean blinked uncontrollably as Sam took him by the shoulders and looked him over. The back of his favorite leather jacket was scorched, but amazingly, it looked like he'd escaped the fireball relatively unscathed. "Dude, give me some credit. I needed something soft to break my fall. Just be thankful it wasn't your funky head…"

Sam cringed, rubbing at the back of his skull. Maybe Dean hadn't exactly landed on his head, but it certainly felt like he had. "You okay?"

Dean stumbled to his feet, grabbing the wall until the passageway stopped spinning and the buzzing in his ears died to a weak thrum. "Considering I just had a demonic fireball up my ass, yeah, I think so. You?"

Sam took the hand his brother offered and clambered up to join him in the corridor. "Considering I just had my brother's fat, firebombed ass land on me, yeah." He smiled slightly, just for a second forgetting what they had been through.

They were alive. Dean was alive. That was all that mattered.

Dean scowled and he tugged open his coat as if to convince Sam he was wrong. "Hey! I don't have an ounce of fat on me! Pure toned muscle, dude."

Sam almost believed the look of hurt pride on his brother's face when he simply cocked his head and smiled. "Whatever, man, but you eat more crap than a Billy goat." He pointed to the stairwell as sirens began to wail outside. "We better haul ass before the emergency service get in here…"

Dean's expression immediately returned to "all business." Talking to the cops and fire department right now was something they hadn't time for. And besides, explaining what they were doing in Tim DaNozza's apartment might prove a little tricky, especially with his track record. If the police printed him after the fiascos in St. Louis and Maryland, his butt would be tossed in jail and the key lost for a _very_ long time.

"I hear ya, little brother."

As they reached the stairwell, Dean looked back, seeing the remnants of Flauros' work for the first time. There was nothing left of the interior of DaNozza's home except a blackened husk. Miraculously, though, the inferno that had engulfed it had already diminished, only a few burning embers remaining alight.

Just as amazingly, the fire had stopped at the doorway, only blackening the frame without touching the outer wall or corridor at all – just like Mark Connors apartment.

Dean huffed at the thought of Flauros and the amount of control he had over his "element." _That sonofabitch is good… _

_----_

**Outside Tim DaNozza's Apartment Building**

**10 minutes later… **

By the time Dean and Sam had quietly exited the building, a crowd of onlookers had already gathered outside. Some pointed skyward, gossiping even though there was no outward evidence of a fire. Others simply gawked and were being held back by two young cops who looked like they needed backup.

Firefighters milled around the scene, no urgency to their actions. By now there was little left for them to do, save to find the cause of the blaze.

Lights whirled absently, their bright colors suggesting the incident was under control, but with Flauros still on the loose that was far from the case.

The scene reminded Sam of the night Jess had died. The night he had vowed to find her killer and make it pay. In all their months of hunting had they discovered so little? Flauros had teased them twice now, but had divulged a minimal amount of information considering the spell they'd used on him. _Your brother is the key to everything…_

"Hey." Dean waved a hand in front of Sam's face, positive his mind was far from concentrating on their next move. "You wanna stop daydreaming and head for the car before someone decides to question us? I mean, dude, we look like a pair of sweeps that crawled up the chimney while the fire was still lit and got our asses fried."

Sam pinched his nose and blinked, casting a quick glance downwards to check out his attire. His jacket was covered in grimy soot marks and the left leg of his jeans had somehow gotten torn. "I guess…" _What about the demon? _

Dean frowned, but stole a look across to the nearest cop. He seemed to have noticed the brothers through the crowd, and if he got the chance, Dean was sure he'd be over to ask a few questions. No doubt the rookie was looking for a few brownie points and the Winchesters just might be the ticket to getting them. "C'mon, we already got a cop finding us interesting, besides a demon…"

Sam nodded absently and they headed for the Impala. Luckily, the apartment block had its own parking area and Dean had used it and a fake permit to hide his "baby" away nicely.

As they quickened their gait, Dean turned around every few seconds, checking to see if they were being tailed. He sorely wanted to bring up the conversation with Flauros and the whole Sam was the key thing, but somehow he just didn't have it in him. Instead, he turned to his usual mirth. "Of all the forms Flauros could use it had to be the fugly cat dude…"

"Huh?" Sam felt distracted somehow, but still compelled to answer his brother.

"You know, Flauros' other guise, Haurus?" Dean made the shape of the perfect hourglass figure with his hands. "Supposed to sometimes appear as one gorgeous chick demoness with all the right assets…"

"We get our asses kicked TWICE by this thing and you wanna flirt with it? Man, you're something else."

Dean's lopsided grin appeared. It was fun to tease Sammy. It relieved the tension that was practically crackling through the air if nothing else. "They might be evil sons of bitches, but they're hot kissers, that much I can tell you…better than that vamp chick back in Colorado…"

"You kissed a demon?" Sam spun around, suddenly amazed at just how far his brother would go. "When did this happen?"

"Lloyd's bar that night…" Dean's mind snapped back to the crossroads, to the demon's taunts and to its offer. Maybe this was one joke that wasn't so funny after all. But still, the thing definitely had known what to do with its host's rather sensuous lips. "It kissed me to seal the deal for Evan's life," he admitted, abruptly not wanting to look at his brother.

Sam shot him a sideways glance. There had been strain between them about that night ever since Dean had all but confessed to almost taking the demon's offer of their father back for his life. Sam would never condone that, and he'd made it clear. Maybe his reasons were somewhat selfish, but he just didn't want to lose Dean. He'd come too close already in Missouri.

"Just as long as that was all it was for…"

Dean held his hands up; somewhat annoyed that Sam still didn't trust him. "Well, hell, I don't see Dad around here, do you?" At his words, Sam grew silent, signaling the conversation was over. When the Impala came into view, Dean sighed contentedly, forgetting everything else. His refuge, his haven. The thing he had so lovingly rebuilt with his own bare hands.

"Bastard!" The word was out of Dean's mouth so fast Sam almost didn't catch it. It was quickly followed by several more colorful phrases that would have made a Hell's Angel blush.

Dean's fast walk turned into a rapid jog as he suddenly noticed someone had scrawled bad graffiti right across the Chevy's trunk. It looked like the message had been painted on in bright red paint by a kindergartener.

"What the..?" The irate hunter rubbed at the message, but it was already dry. "If I need a paint shop, I'll kill the freakin' idiot that did this! Is that blood?" He rubbed harder, using the cuff of his shirt sleeve in annoyance, even though it was likely to do more harm than good.

"Dean, wait!" Sam grabbed his brother's forearm and tried to stop the frantic swirling motion he was making. "We need to read this. I think it's another message from "them.""

"Dude, I don't care if the Pope wrote it! Their ass is gonna be grass…" He stopped rubbing and scrunched up his eyes, trying to discern the hastily scribbled words. "Well yeah, that's really helpful! Out On a Dream? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

When Sam didn't even hazard a guess, Dean turned to see him hanging onto the open passenger door for support, one hand clutching his temple like earlier when he'd received the phone message. "Sam? A vision, the mothman, what?"

Sam pressed harder until his fingers left a momentary impression in his forehead. "It's…it's neither. More like…I don't know…a familiar feeling."

"Get in the car, Sammy. Time to regroup back at the motel. We can figure this thing out there." Dean tried to pry his brother's free hand from the car door frame, but Sam didn't budge. He was holding on so tightly even his knuckles were turning white from the pressure.

"No, wait…"

"Sammy, you're scaring me!" Dean's voice raised an octave as he abruptly realized he had no clue how to help his brother. He grabbed Sam's collar, steadying him as he seemed to teeter slightly.

"Hey! Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Dean's heart almost doubled its pace in his chest, and for a second he didn't turn. The newcomer was bound to be the young cop he'd seen watching them, and that could mean _real_ trouble. He was on so many wanted lists these days it wouldn't take two minutes for his mug shot to appear if the cop did a search. The fact that the mystery voice seemed to know their names didn't bode well, either.

_tbc..._


	8. Chapter 8

Dean turned, noticing Sam's eyes had already locked with whoever was behind them. To his shock, the person didn't wear any kind of uniform, and was so unimposing the elder brother almost wanted to laugh.

The guy looked just a little younger than Sam and was about the same height, but he was skinnier and wore the most ridiculously large pair of glasses Dean had ever seen. Without them, Dean suspected the guy might not actually be half-bad looking, but with them, he was just plain goofy. "Dude, do we know you?" It was a rhetorical question, because he was already sure they didn't. No one was likely to ever forget that nerdish face, ever.

"I…I don't think so." He looked almost sheepish as he walked a little closer, stammering out his words. "I'm…I'm Tim DaNozza." He jerked a thumb back to the apartment block they'd just vacated. "That was my place that just burned…"

Dean's fingers fell from Sam's jacket collar as he realized his brother had stopped shaking since Tim had appeared. Maybe the presence Sam had felt was this kid – especially as they suspected he was one of the "gifted." "How did you know our names? Hell, how did you find us?" _Jeez, another dumbass question, he probably has freaky Sammy visions and saw us already…_

"I…" Tim bit into his lower lip hard. He knew all about these people. He'd seen them twice in his dreams, his nightmares. "I just know…"

"Did you know about the fire too? Is that why you weren't home?" Sam's head had cleared the moment Tim had arrived, and he already felt some kind of bond with the strange looking kid. _He's like me…but just what the hell are we anyway? Good, bad? Something in between..?_

Tim shook his head, stealing another glance back to the throngs of onlookers on the normally quiet street. "I…know your names, but the fire? I wasn't expecting that. I just don't understand any of this. Why me?"

Sam gestured to the back seat of the Impala, wondering if Tim would actually trust them enough to get in after what he must be going through. Having visions was bad enough, but Sam doubted Tim had anyone to share it with like he had Dean. "We can explain if you'll just trust us."

Tim bobbed his head and dived into the back of the Chevy as if he were going for a drive with a bunch of his high school buddies. He apparently had no qualms about putting his faith in two total strangers.

Dean raised a brow, jogging around to tug open the driver's door. "I think this kid freaks me almost as much as the demon," he muttered, glancing back at Tim as he climbed into the Impala. "So, Clark Kent wannabe, want to start by telling us just how you know who we are?"

"Clark Kent?" Tim looked meekly to Dean, fumbling with his hands. "Oh, you mean the glasses…yeah, well, the nightmares I have are bad enough. These things make people ignore me. They think of me as the local geek…I get left out of the crowd – which is how I prefer it…I can't get close to anyone. I can't let anyone love me." The kid looked out of the window, his pitiful expression making it all too clear he felt like a pariah. If anyone got too close, they might just get burned - literally.

Dean and Sam could relate to that look.

"Because of the visions you have, right?" Sam interrupted, leaning over the Chevy's bench seat. "You think if you can stay detached from people enough you won't see as much? Or maybe it won't hurt so much if you see something bad go down close to you?"

"You know about the visions?" Tim's head shot up in surprise. "I thought…I thought…"

"You thought you were the only one, right? You thought you had to shoulder the bad things you see and be alone?" Sam understood totally. He'd been through this. "I see them too, Tim. That's why my brother and I are here. We think something bad is going to happen in Lawrence…"

Tim lowered his eyes again. "It is," he said knowingly. "I've seen things, bad things, I think, but I just can't figure out what they mean."

"The mothman?" Dean pushed. "We read the article about you seeing something. You have to tell us every detail so we can try and figure this thing out and save lives. Cos I'm telling you, dude, mothman only usually foretell huge freakin' disasters I don't wanna see happen in my home town, capiche?" _Not to mention there's a fiery-assed demon behind all this you don't even know about yet…_

Dean watched the kid's reaction. He was more than afraid. What would he feel like if he knew he was somehow connected to a demon? Would he even believe them? It was sometimes tough to hold back the truth from people, but sometimes it was even tougher to tell them the reality they were living in.

The Winchester's had to deal with that reality every day. They had to live, knowing that evil things not only existed, but had taken most of their family and friends. They had to live, knowing that "a war was coming" and as Bobby had so eloquently put it, they where smack bang in the middle of it.

No, maybe it was better people like Tim didn't know the truth. Maybe it was better a burden best left to those who at least knew how to fight it. Then, perhaps only a few people would have to suffer the pain, the nightmares, the fates that the Winchesters had.

"I…I was coming home one night from my friend's house. It was late and I'd just gotten off the bus. I usually walk across the apartment's lot, you know, kinda use it as a short cut, but that night all the lights were out. It was kinda weird and freaky…" Tim paused, looking at the two men in the front of the car. He wasn't afraid of them. He'd sensed they weren't bad from his dreams, or he would have never sought them out. But still, somehow, their very presence was imposing. "Anyway, I was about halfway across the car park when something flew in front of me. Just like a shadow, black, flapping wings, but…"

"But not a bird or bat, right?" Sam pushed when Tim seemed to pause mid-sentence. "At least, not in the conventional sense?"

Tim swallowed at the vivid memory he still carried around with him. "No, it was way too big. Its eyes, they glowed bright red."

"Well what did it say, bugboy?" Dean was getting antsy.

"It didn't say anything." Tim shrugged. "It just kinda hovered there in silence for a few seconds and then vanished into the trees."

"But there's more isn't there?" Sam could tell with Tim's face the story wasn't yet over.

Tim nodded. "The next morning there was a message on my front door." he gulped. "Well, carved into it, actually, but it didn't make sense. It looked like a five-year-old had scrawled it…"

Dean waited for the punchline, and when it didn't come he rolled his eyes and demanded, "Well? What did it say? You do remember?"

"It looked like it said "Find the Fir Tree" but that makes no sense, does it?" Tim looked on apologetically as Dean slammed a hand into the Impala's steering wheel in frustration. "I'm sorry I don't know what it means…"

"It's not your fault, Tim. This isn't the only message that isn't exactly coming through crystal clear," Sam soothed, noting down the words and spellings that the young man gave him, along with those from his own two experiences. He stared at the notepad a second and then passed it over to his brother. "Looks like 'fir' is the only common word. Think it's a reference to the fire demon?"

Dean cocked his head. "Yeah, I think so, and if these moth bugs got "fire" all garbled, I'm betting some of the other words are too. See anything familiar?"

"Fire demon?" Tim's mouth opened until it looked like he might swallow someone, and his face paled, but neither brother answered him.

"Maybe we could use reverse logic?" Sam continued, seemingly never hearing Tim. "We know the mothman predict disasters on a large scale, and we know whatever's going down is going to be in or near the Lawrence area. What could the demon target around here?"

"Man, you need to find something big in Lawrence? Something that's destruction would cause havoc?" The bespectacled student's gaping jaw closed and he began to ponder along with the brothers, totally disregarding the fact he could have sworn he heard them say "demon" at least twice. "There are just too many options here. Landmarks, bridges, hey, and even the local gas fields…"

Sam nodded, scowling as he held the notepad upside down, sideways, and every other angle that might shed new light on the strange phrases scribbled on it. "I think we need the library. We could cross reference this," he tapped the pad, "with anything local that could cause mass loss of life."

Dean shrugged and turned to face the front of the car, hand hovering over the ignition as he offered, "Hell, maybe the demon could just crash a plane smack in the middle of town. It would cut out any leg work…" When the suggestion earned him a huge scowl of disapproval from his sibling, he smirked. "Sorry, man, I guess I shouldn't have watched that last episode of _Ghost Whisperer_."

"Dean, will you just drive?" Sam shot a glance at Tim who simply remained in the back seat, impassive to anything the brothers seemed to discuss. He appeared to accept everything at face value just like a kid who had never lost any innocence. "Maybe some music, just this once," Sam suggested, thinking it might calm everyone's nerves as he flicked on the radio.

_I am the god of hell f ire and I bring you:  
Fire, I'll take you to burn.  
Fire, I'll take you to learn.  
I'll see you burn!  
You fought hard and you saved and learned,  
but all of it's going to burn.  
And your mind, your tiny mind,  
you know you've really been so blind.  
Now's your time burn your mind.  
You're falling far too far behind.  
Oh no, oh no, oh no, you gonna burn! _

Dean almost choked on the gum he was chewing and slammed on the car's brakes before he'd even gotten out of the lot. His eyes shot to Sam's almost as fast as his hand reached out and shut down _The Crazy World of Arthur Brown_ as it spewed from the speakers. "Dude, tell me that's just a coincidence, right?"

Sam's face contorted in deep discomfort. After the things he'd witnessed the last two days alone, he wasn't betting on it. _Is the demon watching us, playing mind games even? _

"Hey, guys? Mind telling me what this is all about?" Tim's placid voice drifted from the back of the Impala questioningly.

"Nope…" Dean and Sam chimed in unison.

----

Dean had almost forgotten where Lawrence's main library was situated. Even when he'd lived in the town he'd rarely visited any place that actually involved education unless he'd been forced there. Finding the library now was like reliving bad memories of being dragged there by Sammy for one of his school projects when all Dean had wanted to do was mess under the Impala's hood.

"It's the next left," Sam instructed helpfully, patting the car's dash rhythmically with his fingertips as if he could will it to arrive faster. _The demon's here. We don't have much time…_

"Wait! Stop the car!" Tim's shrill cry cut off a timely retort from Dean and made him pull over to the curb. He rarely took orders from anyone, especially when he was behind the wheel, but this time he was sure the kid was either gonna puke in his car or have a coronary, his face was so flushed.

"Dude, you better not hurl on the upholstery or you clean it…"

Tim's color grew even deeper and he ignored the jibe, pointing instead through the windshield to a freshly painted store front that seemed to be an offshoot of a much bigger company. "That's it," he eventually stammered, trying to force out words through his excitement. "Look at the name…look what they do…"

"Fire Tek – Fire Prevention Systems for the next Millennia." Sam read out the logo above the doorway, taking in the lettering and similarities with the pad he still held in his left hand. "You think "Fir tree" is a garbled, misspelled Fire Tek?" He finally asked Tim.

Tim nodded. "It's a long shot, but I just…I just _fee_l it."

Dean drew in a long, deep breath between his teeth. "Man, that evil SOB is gonna burn something big…"

"So," Sam tossed the pad down and began quickly rifling through the glove box until he found what he was looking for. "We go in and find out what large scale projects Fire Tek have worked on recently, right? I mean, there can't be that many." _I hope._ He tossed his brother an FBI badge and then looked over his shoulder. "Just wait here till we get back, okay, Tim?"

Tim didn't move. It was like being in a John Carpenter movie, except the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he was going to end up as "bad guy fodder" unless he kept his head down. "I'm not going anywhere," he admitted meekly, eyes bulging as he noted Dean wedge a silver automatic into the back of his jeans before exiting the car.

----

**Fire Tek **

**Ten Minutes Later… **

Dean tugged open the glass door to the company's showroom and quickly glanced down at his clothes. He'd swapped his damaged jacket for a clean one from his holdall in the Impala's trunk, but if any Fire Tek people scrutinized him too closely they'd still be able to see soot marks all down his jeans. _Trust me to leave most of my stuff back at the motel… _

Sam, on the other hand had been lucky enough to have a full change of clothes in the car. That was the very good reason why he was now taking point in their little investigation.

"Hi, I'm Special Agent Dickinson and this is my partner Agent Simpson…" Sam flashed his fake FBI badge at the salesman now heading towards them, a small, brief smirk flashing across his features as Dean started at the name he'd been given. "We're here to ask about any recent large scale installations you may have carried out in the area."

The salesman's very helpful smile wavered. He'd been hoping to take an order, not talk shop with a couple of feds. Business was slow lately and he needed the commission. "I…I'm not sure I can give out that kind of information. Do you have a warrant?"

Dean pushed forward, making sure to lightly tread on his brother's left boot with just enough pressure to make him cringe as he passed by. "My badge better not say Bart or I'll kick your ass," he mumbled under his breath as he approached Fire Tek's rep.

Sam's cheeks sank into a smile but he didn't answer. The "look" on Dean's face was amusement enough as he slid past to pressurize the salesman. _Oh, but you're SO Bart… _

"Listen, we don't need a warrant when we're dealing with a matter of national security." Dean made sure he was in the little man's face just enough to make him squirm. "We have reason to believe a person, or persons unknown are planning a terrorist attack right here in Lawrence. Do you want me to arrest your ass for obstruction of justice?"

The forty-something, balding rep whose nametag read "Dave" shook his head and slowly backed up to his nearby desk, his eyes never leaving Dean. When the back of his leg hit a rather large leather swivel chair, he sank into it and began tapping on his computer. "How far back do you want our records?" He asked, swallowing several times in quick succession.

Dean looked to Sam before the younger brother answered. "Try a couple of months. We're looking for something major. Anything high profile like new hotels, places where there are likely to be lots of people…"

Dave instantly stopped his search. "Well, we finished two big jobs just last week. Don't even need the computer to tell you about those. One was the fire suppression system for the new wing at the local Uni, the other was a whole new system at the Beresford Woods Retirement place just outta town…"

Sam looked at his brother and mouthed the word "Uni." He didn't know why, but it just seemed to fit so much better than a retirement home. So many young lives, and on a much larger scale.

Dean silently nodded his agreement, turning his attention back to Dave. "Were there any problems with the installation at the Uni? Any glitches with the system, unusual problems, that kinda thing?"

The salesman swiveled to-and-fro in his chair out of habit, his gaze suddenly fixed on the dirt and grime on Dean's jeans. His brow quirked as if he were about to ask what an FBI was doing clothed that way, but when Dean scowled back he abruptly thought better of it. "I think they had a few teething troubles embedding some of the suppression system cables into the walls, but nothing out of the ordinary for a job of that scale."

Sam suddenly felt nauseous. He had come here looking for answers, but now that he had them he didn't feel better, he felt useless.

_I think they had a few teething troubles embedding some of the suppression system cables into the walls, _

_Into the walls…_

Pressure began to build behind Sam's eyes, and he started rubbing at his left temple. It wasn't a headache, just sheer raw dread mixed with the terrifying truth of what was going to happen. The fire demon was going to try and burn down Kansas University's newest wing, and everyone in it.

"Dave, do you have schematics of the new system here?" Sam asked breathlessly.

The little man bit his lip, but hit a few more keys on his keyboard until he found the information he was looking for. Stealing a last glance at Dean in obvious fear, he scooted into the back of the establishment and returned moments later with two floor and wall plans sheathed in protective tubing.

"I'll need to have signatures for these," he dared to ask, placing a form in front of Sam. "I'm really not supposed to release them but…"

"But you're doing your country a great service," Dean finished for him, squiggling something unintelligible on the form for good measure. "We'll be sure to make sure you get a mention on the six o'clock news." The hunter winked cheekily and grabbed the rolled plans before Dave could change his mind.

"Really? On CNN even..?"

Dave continued to shout after them until the doorbell jingled as it closed behind the brothers.

"CNN, huh?"

Dean shrugged and tapped the alarm blueprints. "Yeah, I'm figuring he won't be all that's on the news pretty soon if we don't figure this thing out fast." His brows furrowed and he stopped just off the edge of the sidewalk. "So, you looked like you had a Dalai Lama moment back there. Wanna fill me in before I die of old age?"

Sam hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Was it his imagination or had the temperature just gotten way too cold for the time of year? Maybe it was just the bad things going through his mind, maybe it was just the thought of so much death hanging in the air. "When the guy said they'd had trouble with the wiring in the walls I thought of the phone message. "Fir in wals" or maybe fire in the walls? And the second message, on your car? Dean, Kansas Uni is built on Mount Oread…"

Dean rubbed at the stubble on his face, licking his lips as he realized how suddenly dry they'd become. "Mount Oread is an anagram of "Out on a Dream." Sonofabitch, he really is gonna burn the University…" He tapped the tubes in his left hand lightly onto his free palm. "Question is when is the freaky bastard gonna strike?"

"There has to be a time frame, a reasoning behind his plan." Sam turned, ignoring the strange looks as shoppers pushed past his lanky body to get to a nearby crossing. Something was staring him in the face; something was burning to get out from the depths of his mind. _Burning…burning…just like the demon. _

Sam's head snapped up as realization hit. "Dean, today is December 15th, right?"

Dean looked at his watch for confirmation, even though he was pretty sure he hadn't slept through any days lately without noticing – something he had done on occasion briefly after John's death. "Yeah, unless they altered the calendar this year just to confuse us. Why?"

"The bridge collapse the mothman foretold in Point Pleasant? Dean, it was exactly forty years ago today…" Sam was getting colder, but was it just his own nervous system reacting to the news he didn't want to hear? "Dude, the demon seems to have some kind of cycle, and I think it's come full circle tonight…"

Dean's pulse quickened before he'd even had time to assimilate the information. If Sam was right, they had hours, maybe less to convince people to evacuate the newest section of Kansas University. Not only that, they had to find the demon and stop its heinous plan. Could they even do half of what they needed to?

_Your brother is the key to everything…_

Dean took down a strangled breath and gestured that they should jump back in the Chevy. Inside his mind, though, all he could hear, could see, was Flauros taunting him. Maybe this was Sam's time. Maybe Sam's destiny really was to face off the demon in some weird showdown. If that was the case, then Dean would be right there with him, fighting until he drew his last breath.

But what if Sammy wasn't here to face off the demon? What if this was what the yellow-eyed bastard had been waiting of all along? What if tonight Sam pushed aside all else and took his place alongside the thing.

_Dude, the demon seems to have some kind of cycle, and I think it's come full circle tonight…_

_Come full circle to collect?_ Dean's muscles convulsed as an involuntary shudder wracked his scar-covered body. No, tonight they thwarted the demon. Tonight they saved the University. And tonight, maybe they could find out the truth before they finally died and joined John in whatever hereafter awaited.

_tbc..._


	9. Chapter 9

**University of Kansas**

Dean looked up at the new University wing and whistled. He'd expected something on a large scale, but the place was just mammoth – definitely something that fit the bill of mast destruction should it burn. After years spent in Lawrence with a bookworm brother, Dean couldn't believe he'd never realized the scale of the campus before.

"Man, this is freakin' huge! If even a quarter of this place burns we could be talking way more casualties than in Point Pleasant…" He twisted the Chevy's ignition key to "off" and pulled on the parking brake after making sure the car was carefully hidden in a discreet corner of the lot.

"According to the official website this place has 1000 acres to it and a community of over 80,000 students and staff." Sam continued to examine the brothers' laptop screen for further information that might be of some help. "Dean, we have to stop this. I think it's just the beginning…"

"Did you check out the plans from Fire Tek?" Dean stuck another piece of gum in his mouth as he spoke. He needed something to chew on, and tonight picking on Sammy with a few well-timed jibes just wouldn't cut it. Seeing as they'd dropped "Clark" off at Missouri's, he wasn't available to chide either.

Sam nodded and slid the laptop closed, tugging the blueprints from the rear of the Impala with one of his huge hands. "As far as I can tell there are two or three places the demon might choose to start the fire." He pointed to the left top corner of the plans. "If a short occurred and the sprinklers don't kick in, these two stairwells would be deathtraps if anyone gets caught on them…"

"Ugh…great…" Dean rolled his eyes as he reached for the door release. "Why am I getting bad _Towering Inferno_ flashbacks here, Sammy?"

Sam twirled the blueprints back into their tube with a smirk. "Aww, c'mon, dude, you know you _so_ wanted to be Steve McQueen in that movie as a kid, fireman and all…"

Dean climbed from the car, face twisting in an unreadable expression as he looked up at the new section of Uni. "Yeah, well, let's just say after your room burned I grew outta the fireman fetish real quick..."

"Yeah, right but you still have the Steve McQueen delusions occasionally." Sam countered with a grin, popping the Chevy's trunk and passing over an axe along with Dean's favorite shotgun. "'Course, the Impala's not exactly a Mustang Cobra but…"

Dean huffed audibly but took the weapons he was offered. "Mustangs are for Wusses, dude. Don't you know a real muscle car when you see one?"

"All I see is a black bucket with red scribbles all over the trunk." Sam twitched his eyebrows mischievously. "Oh, and it _so_ needs a wax…"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well it's your turn Daniel-San. Then again, don't you have some weird aversion to wax?" He grinned. "C'mon, let's get this show on the road…" The elder hunter bobbed his head towards the Uni's illuminated entrance and began to jog towards it.

It was time, and no amount of jokes could hide what both brothers knew would come next. Somewhere in the building, the demon was waiting.

Maybe this was a trap just like at the cabin in Missouri. Maybe it had been all along, but whatever happened, it ended here, tonight.

**South Stairwell **

Sam looked at the countless steps in front of him and was glad there was no one else around. If the demon started his hellish plan now, at least the building wasn't at full capacity. Of course, should the yellow-eyed monster decide to mess with the buildings power as well as its electrical wiring, the stairs might suddenly be the only exit from the upper levels. That was when things could get messy.

"You think he's watching us? Now, I mean?" Sam couldn't help but turn in a circle, searching for some unseen clue that might prove their nemesis was here. He could feel the tension in his muscles, sense the tightness in his brother's voice. _This is it. The war starts here… _

Dean shrugged, eyeing the walls as they climbed the stairs until he found what he was looking for. The fire alarm point was inset in the wall quite neatly, recessed with a smart but practical breakable covering. "I sure hope someone is, dude, cos we still gotta clear this freakin' building…" He slid a hand under his jacket and brought out the small axe. With a quick tap, he shattered the special glass and hammered down on the alarm button.

Nothing.

Dean's face clouded and began to flush with color. He'd expected this, they both had, but even so, he still felt like the game had already been won. They might still be on the chess board, but they had no real pieces left to play with. "This thing is supposed to be wired to the Fire Department too, right, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, watching as his brother dropped his axe and quickly fumbled for his cell phone, dialing 911. After two rings, someone answered.

"I'd like to report a fire in the new wing of Kansas Uni…" Dean sounded breathless, even though he'd done little to exert himself. Inside, he could feel his heart thudding in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears. "I know the place is wired to your systems…I already hit one of the alarms…"

Dean's cheeks began to redden and Sam half expected him to throw the phone up against the wall. Even though he couldn't hear the other half of the conversation, Sam was sure the dispatcher was arguing with his brother. Why wouldn't she? The newest, most up-to-date fire system was telling her nothing was wrong. And hell, there were bound to be lots of pranks on a Uni campus. Sam had pulled a few in his time.

Dean's voice grew louder until he was almost screaming. "Lady, if you don't send a friggin' fire truck down here right now, I'll light a damn bonfire in the lobby myself!" He tossed the phone down in temper and then sighed as he looked back up to Sam. "All I got was a threat to arrest my ass if I didn't stop wasting the emergency services time. Looks like we're not gonna get the Fire Department's help to evacuate until it's too late and this place is toast!"

Sam had expected as much. The demon hadn't just thought this up out of the blue, he'd had decades to choose his next target and formulate the perfect plan. _And decades to this bastard are but a drop in the proverbial ocean… _

"C'mon, let's get to the next junction box for the suppression system. Fire in the walls, remember?" Sam's right brow jerked up and he scooted up the steps two at a time until he reached the door to the next level. Without looking back, he tugged open the door and hurried through, hearing Dean's footfalls close behind.

"You know what you're looking for, Mr. Engineer?" Dean deftly hid the axe back under his jacket as a young blonde student with "all the right assets" drifted by. "Or do I have to start hacking at the walls with this thing like my man Jack?"

Sam glanced down the corridor, gaining his bearings. One wall suddenly looked like any other and he was momentarily disorientated. "Over here…I think," he offered, running a hand along the freshly painted surface of the passageway as if he might be able to sense the danger through tactile sense alone.

"What are you doing, feeling for the freakin' force?" Dean shook his head and retrieved the axe, talking two steps back to get a good swing at the wall. "Move aside, Luke…time for a little brute force Winchester style…"

The hunter stopped suddenly mid-lunge, his eyes abruptly settling on something to his left.

Sam's eyes darted from the tip of the axe to Dean's new focal point and he sucked down a breath.

Streaming through the nearest air-conditioning vent was a thin, black, and very familiar smog.

_It's here… _

Dean let the axe fall to his side and he moved forward, meeting the mist halfway in the corridor as it began to take form. He had nothing to fight the thing with, nothing to even control it, and yet he suddenly wasn't afraid.

Showing fear to this thing was what it fed on. He'd learned that the hard way back in the cabin.

Sam followed more slowly, his eyes watching every dark particle coalesce until he realized he recognized the shape, the body that was forming. _Dad…_

The demon knew their weakness. Knew the one thing that could tear into their armor and find every chink until it was through to the meaty flesh beneath – the flesh of their souls.

"Hello, boys, nice to see you again after Wisconsin…" The unmistakable yellow eyes flashed with amusement, but it was John's rumbling tones that taunted the brothers. John's sturdy form that confronted them, smiling, waiting.

"We won't let you burn down the campus…not at any price..." Dean almost choked on his own words. He could defy the demon, ignore the fact that it had chosen his father's form even, but he couldn't deny the agony he was already feeling inside. Just being in the creature's presence made him all-too aware of the damage it had inflicted on him before. The abrupt, agonizing sensation of thousands of tiny blades cutting into his insides, the torment as his flesh was torn into by invisible, razor sharp, demonic talons…

The demon smiled, lips curling beneath his well groomed beard as he realized the memories his mere arrival had conjured. He rubbed at the graying whiskers on his face. "Any Price?" he sneered. "That's something your family know so much about, isn't it? Oh, and what a price you boys have paid already. Dear Daddy giving his soul to me, and for nothing. Do you still feel the pain I inflicted in his form, Dean? I know you do. I know all about those nightmares you still have where my daughter almost got you to give in at the hospital…almost…"

The demon paused, looking at both brothers through their father's eyes. It inhaled, even though it had no need to breathe, no mortal need for oxygen.

"You know just how stupid Johnny Winchester was, don't you?" The creature continued its scathing sermon. "Giving up himself and losing the Colt, and for what? There will be laughter in hell for millennia over that little deal I can tell you…"

The glint in Dean's eyes dulled and his shoulders slouched, his grip on the axe loosening in defeat. "I was dying," he quietly murmured, his mind screaming in pain at the thought of where his father's soul might now reside. _He's in hell, because of me. Tortured by this bastard and its sidekicks, because of me…_

The demon in John's form moved closer until the elder Winchester could feel its sulpherous breath on his face. "Oh no, you were never dying, and you know it. Your brother took care of that." The thing stuffed its ethereal hands into its long overcoat pockets, mimicking John's habits.

"What does that mean?" Sam ignored his brother's almost servile behavior and confronted the thing that had ruined his life, nay tried to control it his every waking moment. "What's so important about me you'd go to all this trouble? Why?" He pleaded, anger tingeing his normally placid nature.

The demon laughed, John's cavernous voice taunting the brothers with its mirth. Their father had never laughed that way. Not since Mary's death. "Unlike your father, you still have no clue who you're even dealing with, do you, Sammy boy?" The thing nodded, noting with the Winchesters quick glances to one another that it was right. "I am Azazel…some of you mere mortals choose to call me Satan, but it's purely a title…"

"The Devil?" Sam's voice quivered. "Me, the other psychic kids, we're supposed to be pawns for _you_…"

Azazel smirked. "It's no use fighting it, Sammy. You're mine, always have been from the day of your birth. And now, now it's time for me to reap what I have sown. You see, you have so much more talent than just the visions. How would you be of use to me otherwise? You can wield that most important of all things, Samuel. You have the gift of life and death at your fingertips, if you only knew how to control it…"

"It's not true…I'm just a kid from Kansas…" Sam mumbled the words, but he knew it was a lie. Was this what Dean had known all along? Just how much had his brother held back from him?

Dean's current silence did little to alleviate the pressure. Had Dean already given all there was to give? Had he accepted finally that Sam belonged to darkness, and not light?

"You know I'm not lying, Sam." The demon gestured with its hand, the haunting appearance of John Winchester beckoning for his son to join him. "The test in River Grove proved just how powerful you will become. You cannot be touched by demonic plagues like a normal human. Your gift even cancelled out the virus in the blood samples in the room you were in. You have the power to give or take that thing which is most precious…"

Sam shook his head. "I could have saved all the townspeople…" He looked up. "But…I still don't see how I saved Dean…"

Azazel clasped his fingers behind his back, setting his gaze on the elder hunter as he spoke. He wanted the words to burn, to eat into Dean's psyche. "Oh, but Sammy, weren't you the one at your brother's bedside when he awakened? Weren't you fraught with fear at losing him? Just like the time when you used your telekinesis to prevent him being killed by Max. Pity then, you didn't realize the gift you carried when your father lay dying on a cold hospital floor…"

"You bastard…" Dean seethed through clenched teeth.

The demon ignored the remark and continued its torment. "Pure brotherly love triggered your gift to save Dean, Samuel. I wonder why that same love didn't kick in to save Dear Johnny? But then, after all those years of arguing perhaps deep down you didn't love him enough to save him? No subconscious trigger because there was no subconscious affection?"

"No!" Tears streamed down Sam's face and his cheeks flushed with anger. It didn't matter who he was, where he was from, he would never have let his father die if he'd had any clue of his gift. He clenched and unclenched his fists, suddenly feeling the same futile rage that Dean had earlier when he'd tried to choke Flauros. "I'm not a part of you. The things I can do…they're a freak of nature, a fluke, not some demonic endowment!"

Azazel's eyes sparked with renewed zest, his orange pupils swirling with amusement. When Sam grew angry, he became something the demon liked, yearned for even. "You belong to me…"

"No, you freaky sonofabitch he belongs to no one. He's a Winchester, not a friggin' dog on a leash!" Dean spat out the comeback as he suddenly launched at the demon. It didn't matter that the thing looked like John, if he got close enough, he'd still make a swing for it.

Azazel's gaze of concentration shifted to the floor, mirroring the motion he had made back in the cabin. The air crackled with a strange, unholy energy that made every human on the same level's ears buzz with a tingling resonance.

And then, as quickly as he'd made his lunge, Dean was torn from his feet and tossed into the air, back arching as spikes of sheer demonic power coursed through him.

The hunter stifled a cry as the air was knocked from his lungs leaving him breathless, but he refused to plead as he had in Missouri. John had still been inside that body. Now, all that stood before him was an imitation, a bad copy of a once great man – great father in his own way.

The demon looked up, sensing Dean's defiance. It had felt that bravado once before and quickly dispelled it. Azazel's fiery orbs glowed as he held Dean in mid-air, seemingly invisible hands gripping the hunter by his neck until he choked to try and take down any oxygen.

"Still want to put on that oh-so brave face of yours, Dean?" The demon nodded, circling his prey as scarlet blotches of blood began to seep through the elder Winchester's shirt. "You know how good I am at this…"

Dean jerked, his body spasming as needle-sharp, unseen fingers began probe and tear at his flesh. "I think I remember this game," he coughed out with a ragged grunt. "I think I got the penthouse view this time, though…"

Azazel smiled, watching as Sam squirmed unsure of what to do. "Your brother can be quite amusing in a kind of childishly archaic way, don't you think? I almost killed him once, maybe I can do it all over again and finish the job…"

As the creature glowered, Dean's body was thrown into the nearby wall with such force Sam was sure he heard the sickly sound of bones breaking.

The elder hunted groaned but didn't cry out. He'd be damned if he gave the demon _that _satisfaction. Blood dribbled from his lips, meeting the already red oozing mass on his shirt. _Been here, done this before… _

"You could save him, Samuel…but by doing so you would be admitting your destiny, admitting that you truly are my disciple…"

"Don't…you do it…Sammy…" Dean's voice was pleading, desperate as he finally slumped to the floor, his tortured body leaving a red bloody streak down the newly painted wall. "Don't you give…in to that bastard…"

Azazel didn't look back at his victim. Instead, his eyes bored into Sam like a diamond drill bit cutting deep into its goal. He held up a palm, a small sneer forming beneath John's beard, and behind him, Dean yelled out as imperceptible claws gouged new bloody troughs into his chest. "Do I have to tear every last breath from his body to gain your allegiance, Sammy? You know I will…"

_tbc..._


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's eyes darted past the demon to his brother, his normal puppy expression replaced by something beyond rage. Dean had curled into a ball, clutching at the ragged holes in his t-shirt in a vain and desperate attempt to staunch more blood seeping from his body.

Dean's eyes locked with Sam's as moisture once again filled the younger Winchester's eyes and began to stream down his blotchy cheeks.

_Don't you give into him, Sammy… _

Dean was too tired, too damaged to speak it outright, but Sam saw the message loud and clear as if it had been hailed through a megaphone. No matter what, his brother didn't want him to yield, didn't want him to prove the demon was right all along about Sam's true nature. No, Dean wanted Sam to keep the thing talking, to buy time. But to what end?

"A pitiful sight, if I do say so…" Azazel refused to turn and waste his paranormal energy on Dean, instead remaining focused on his true target. "What's it to be, Sammy?"

A fresh grunt of pain gurgled from Dean's lips and he gasped down a breath as if it might be his last. Closing his eyes he tried to control the unreasonable urge he had to cough. Coughing only made his fractured ribs feel like they were coming through his side or worse.

Sam couldn't help but look away, at the wall, anywhere but the tortured form of his brother.

The wall.

Without even realizing it, Sam's gaze settled on the section of corridor that held the alarm junction box they'd been seeking. Except now, the fresh paint on the wall was not only covered by a slick trail of Dean's blood, but also by a stomach-turning black patch that signaled the alarm, or at least _something_ was burning behind the plaster.

_Fir in Wals… _

Sam blinked, looking back to the demon without acknowledging he'd seen the beginning of the now inevitable fire. The building was going to burn, and Dean was going to die unless _he_ did something. What was more he didn't even have the luxury of time to be able to stall his foe, and yet somehow, he must.

"If I'm to join you, I at least deserve to know why? Why choose me to give your damn gifts to? Why kill Mom, Jess, everyone I've ever cared about..?"

Azazel ran a hand through his hair - John's hair and then scratched at his temple, pretending to have to think about the question for a second. "Why?" His smile broadened. "Because I can. Death is what you might call my occupation, my calling on this puny planet. And you? You were meant to be part of that calling. And you will be…"

"No." Sam shook his head. He had gifts, maybe evil gifts, but he was sure of one thing. "I'm no devil's son. I had a mother, father." He glanced fleetingly behind the demon, eyes full of despair. "A brother…"

"You're human, I never disputed that. Born to a family with too many delusions of grandeur in the demon hunting department, but still human." Azazel smirked and he leaned forward, whispering with John's voice. "But you, Sammy? Your soul was sold long ago to me by your mother, although at the time she didn't even know it."

"Liar!" Sam spat the rebuke, but already his mind began to whirl back to a past experience. When he and Dean had returned home to Lawrence, Mary's spirit at been in their old home, and she had spoken to him, a look of sadness and regret tinting her ghostly features.

_Sam, I'm sorry…_

_For what? _

Mary had never answered his question; never put his mind at rest. Could the evil thing before him really be telling the truth? "It's not possible," Sam muttered in defeat, still seeing the burning figure of his mother as if it had been yesterday.

Azazel noted the sudden change in Sam's demeanor and turned, focusing now on Dean. The elder brother was still conscious and glared back, half expecting a further surge of agony from his tormentor.

Instead, the demon kneeled, cupping Dean's blood covered chin in his left hand. "Do you remember, Dean? Do you recall the last really _fun_ day you had in your life with dear Daddy? That was the day your brother became mine…"

Sam took a step forward. "How can Dean know?"

Azazel let the elder hunter's head slip from his grasp and roll back onto the corridor's cold floor tiles. "I can show you both. Maybe it is time you learned the truth…"

Sam shook his head and was about to ask how, but suddenly he didn't need to. His mind began to lurch as if someone was trying to fine tune a radio to the best frequency. All his thoughts seemed to merge and then vanish to be replaced by something else – a vision, a memory of something he had never been around to see.

On the floor, Dean's already bleary eyes seemed to glaze over as he too was somehow subjected to the very same visualization.

"Daddy, Daddy! I want the white one!" The tiny form of Dean Winchester tugged on his father's leather jacket as he bounced up and down in excitement. Around him, crowds jostled and pushed as a milling throng enjoyed the fun fair passing through Lawrence.

"Son, you have to win it. You can't just have it without making the effort." John kneeled until he was crouching to the same height of his only child. "You have to be a pretty good shot at this game to win a Bear like that…"

Dean's features lit up and he looked at the bear again with glee. "Mom says you're the best shot in Kansas!"

"Only Kansas?" John feigned a gasp of surprise and ran a hand playfully through the front of his son's hair. "I think I'll have to have words with Mom tonight." He smiled, picking up Dean and setting him on the counter of the shooting gallery.

"Words with Mom?" Mary Winchester eased into the gap beside her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist. "What have I done to deserve that kind of attention?"

"Daddy's going to win me a bear!" Dean nodded, pointing at the huge white Teddy he had selected for John to try and win.

"Oh, John, it's almost time to go and you know you promised we could visit the fortune teller before we leave…" Mary looked disappointed. Fun fairs were a great place to be with your family, but something had been eating at her lately. Something she wanted answers to. Maybe a gypsy palm reader was a stupid way to expect answers, but she was here anyway, what could it hurt?

"But my bear…" Dean's lip quivered and his saddened gaze met the floor. He swung his tiny feet too and fro in frustration even before anything more was said.

"Oh honey, you know those gypsies just make it all up. They tell you what you want to hear just to get your money…" John was torn between his son's bitter disappointment and his wife's frustration. That meant he was more than likely going to offend one to please the other.

Mary couldn't help a small laugh, pushing her long blonde hair from her eyes as it blew haphazardly in the wind. She knew John was right – he always was. But still, she yearned for something she apparently couldn't have. "It still might be nice to see what the old crystal ball says about our future, John," she asked persuasively.

John cringed teasingly. "Actually, I'd rather not know. Why don't you go on ahead and I'll bring Dean along after we win the bear?" He smiled, bobbing his head to the small fortune teller's hut that had been erected.

"Alright." Mary let her hand slide from around John's waist and settled a brief kiss on his cheek. "But if she tells me we're winning the lottery I might not still be around when you get there." She winked, sauntering off towards the hut before John could respond.

Dean's head cocked to one side. "Dad?"

John laughed. "Nothing, sport. What say I show you how to shoot this thing and we get that big ol' bear now?" He picked up the age-worn rifle on the counter and took a look down the sights. Not exactly the greatest thing to shoot with, but he'd manage. "Now then, son, the first thing you've gotta do is think about what you're aiming at…"

Mary could still hear John's bottomless voice as she entered the small shack and a tiny bell above her tinkled. It was great to spend a day together, to see her husband having so much fun with their son, and yet, Mary wanted more.

She looked around, spotting a small table and two chairs through a thin veiled curtain. In the middle of the table sat the crystal ball she had been so eager to see into.

Did she really want to know, though?

"Welcome. Please take a seat…" A young woman about Mary's age and very smartly dressed appeared from the rear of the hut. She wore ordinary clothes and had her long, dark hair down over her shoulders.

Mary almost had to do a double take. Somehow, she had expected a wrinkled old woman with huge earrings wearing a colorful scarf over her hair. _This isn't the turn of the century or the movies. What was I thinking? _

Mary took the seat that she was offered and watched as the young gypsy settled down opposite her. Already, she had the intense feeling that she was being scrutinized far more than she had ever intended, and it was unnerving. No, it was more than that. It was as if the fortune teller really did know all about her already, just by setting eyes on her.

"You want something, but your husband thinks it's far too soon…"

Mary began to wring her hands, but nodded. If this person knew the truth, then maybe they had the answer she sought too. "I…I want another child, but John thinks we should wait. I…I just think it would be good for Dean, my son to have a brother or sister. He shouldn't be alone all his life…"

The gypsy's eyes darkened and seemed to swirl in the poorly-lit room. "And you fear Dean will never have one, don't you?"

"I would give anything for another son. _Anything_. Dean needs someone his own age to play with, to have fun with and I just don't think it's going to happen. I mean, John is great father but Dean needs to be around other kids…" Mary shook her head. This was coming out all wrong.

"You'd give _anything_?" The fortune teller smiled, letting a hand gently caress the transparent glass ball before her. "You know, Mrs. Winchester, you really should be careful with your choice of words…"

John waited patiently for ten minutes outside the tiny hut before his grip on Dean began to loosen. The little guy alone was quite a weight on his arm as the father carried him, but atop the kid now sat a huge white bear just to add to the awkwardness of the load.

"Time to go down, sport." The smiling father had no sooner set his grinning son down than his wife appeared from inside the fortune teller's with a similar smile across her face. "Hey, how did it go? I take it from your mere presence there isn't a lottery win in the near future?"

Mary hooked an arm around John's free one and let her other hands grasp Dean's tiny palm. "Oh, not a lottery win, but something even better…"

"Honey, there's something better?" John asked good-humoredly.

"We're going to have another child…at least, according to the gypsy. She even said it would be born in May…" Mary waited for the response, but the first didn't come from where she'd expected.

"Mommy, can you please make it a brother?" Dean's eyes glistened and both Winchesters had to stop and look at him with a smile. Apparently, despite his body's small stature, his ears were fully grown and working perfectly. "It would be _so cool_ to have a brother to shoot with next time we come to the fair!"

Mary laughed at his innocent expression of glee. "It's funny, but the gypsy did say it would be a son. She even said we'd name him Sam."

John gave a muted gasp. "Sweetheart, no way am I ever gonna call my son Sam. People will shorten it to Sammy and that's so girlie…" The father winked at Dean as he spoke, ruffling the youngster's hair again with a small smile.

As the Winchesters walked away from the fair towards a certain black Chevy, the scene began to fade, to dissipate until all that was left in front of Sam was once again the grinning form of the demon in his father's guise.

"Now do you see you've always been mine, Sammy?" The demon leered, watching and enjoying as Dean squirmed on the floor at what he too had been shown. "Why do you think I put the name Samuel in your mother's mind? Samhain, Sammy, the time when the veil between our worlds is thinnest and I may reign stronger here."

Sam shook his head. His mother hadn't known what she was doing. Hadn't known she was selling her second son to a demon by using a few inapt words in its presence. _No wonder Mom's ghost said sorry back in Lawrence…_

The demon ignored Sam's silence, taking it for defeat. "You were marked from birth, just like so many other children. It's amazing what people will say or do when they wish for children they think can't have, Sammy…So many women visiting the gypsy in town's all across the country…"

"Except there never was any gypsy, was there? It was you all along you bastard!" Sam spat angrily, realizing how so many innocent people had been deceived. "And the kids, they're all the gifted ones like me. You took our mother's as payment just like the crossroads demon took payment for what it gave – except you really never _gave_ anything. And then you marked us somehow when we reached six months old…"

Azazel stepped in front of Dean's prone form, putting his back to the hunter once again so he could get within a hairsbreadth of Sam's face. "And now, now I'm reaping my harvest…"

Sam stood his ground, even though every fiber of his being was screaming the fight was already over. Dean was dying, and his own soul had been sold long ago. How could they escape this fate, this destiny of death and darkness? "Why Jess?" He barked, feeling his throat becoming raw with all the yelling.

The demon's eyes flashed. "Didn't I tell you in Missouri, psychic boy? Jess was in the way. How could I allow you to marry her when your union may have spawned more gifted children? Gifted children whose powers would not fall under any of my deals like the other brats I created. They could have used their gifts against me…"

"And you think just because my mother made a deal with you I can't use mine against you?" Sam took a step back. He still had nothing to fight with accept his own defiance, but hell, that sometimes worked for Dean, didn't it? _Why can't I make the damn gifts work when I need them?_ "I don't care where my gifts come from. I won't help you with them. I won't stand alongside you and use them to kill, because that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Not even for your brother?" Azazel inhaled, and for a second Sam expected more screams from Dean as his body was crushed beneath the demon's hellish claws. Instead, the thing continued its word game. "You've used your gifts to save him once, even though you didn't realize it at the time. Isn't that already accepting them, accepting your fate? I can hurt him more, if you want, Samuel…"

"And if you kill Dean," Sam countered. "You kill the only hold you have on me now Dad is gone. Then what? You really think I'd help you here? Help you kill hundreds of helpless school kids just to satisfy your death fetish? I'd rather die myself than become that person."

Azazel let out the breath he had taken, and suddenly Sam found himself weightless. His body rose above the flooring just enough to make it appear he was floating on some invisible carpet of the Gods. He had no control over his limbs, no control over his muscles as some bizarre paralysis took a hold of his lanky body.

The demon's fetid breath met his nostrils as it rose to his height. "Rather die than join me? I can make that happen too…"

_tbc..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi, everyone! This takes us almost up to where I started, but don't worry I won't leave you hanging there much longer. Thanks for all your kind reviews! **

Dean watched from his position on the floor as Azazel mercilessly spun his brother around and slammed him into the blackening wall.

Sam's spine was pressed harshly against the heated corridor, and he struggled against the searing sensation that seeped through his jacket, threatening to blister the flesh on his back. He choked as unseen demonic hands began to squeeze his throat, but he refused to yield.

Dean winced. Sam was fighting his destiny, and if big brother didn't do something soon, he would burn for it. How much longer before the passageway wall and Sam were engulfed in flames? _Just like Mom, like Jess… _

Dean couldn't allow it. No matter how much his body hurt, no matter how much his shaking muscles refused to cooperate, he had to find a way out, an escape for Sammy if not for himself.

The elder hunter could see the pain in his brother's eyes, the regret of causing so much suffering to his family even though he had no control over it.

_No! _Dean's mind screamed out, and with the mental pain came physical strength.

He didn't want to tear his gaze from his little brother, not for one second, but the blood now oozing from his chest and seeping onto his fingers may yet have another purpose besides his quick demise.

Dean looked at the bright red fluid and briefly closed his eyes, remembering the scrawl from his father's diary word for word. Pushing away the harsh taunts Azazel was making to Sammy in John's voice, Dean began to draw on the floor in his own blood, carefully making sure the sigil he scrawled with his forefinger was enclosed in a perfect triangle.

As he worked, he wordlessly spoke Latin, knowing if Azazel heard his unholy mantra he would be killed instantly.

_A blood sacrifice is required to summon a demon… _

Dean couldn't help but smirk as his shaking hand finished its task. If Flauros wanted blood, he had plenty more pooling on the floor to work with.

The hunter inhaled, the sigil finally complete. "Time to meet an old friend you bastard…"

Azazel paused in his jeering and turned at Dean's rasping voice. Dean was only still alive because he was needed as a pawn, a tool to convince Sam that he must choose the demon's side. That usefulness, however, was rapidly coming to an end.

"Got something to say, Dean?" The demon sneered, but his face soon contorted into disbelief as he realized what the elder hunter had daubed on the floor in his own blood. "You…"

Before Azazel could finish his insults, a second black ooze began to fill the corridor from underneath the stairwell door. As everyone watched in fascination, the miasma took shape within the triangle – the shape of a man with feline features.

Dean panted, gathering his energy. "I command you to burn that bastard in hell…" He gestured to Azazel with a scarlet tinted hand, although the demon he controlled needed no further instruction.

_Flauros can destroy all the conjurer's enemies by burning them up…_

Sam's eyes widened as his body suddenly slid from the middle of the wall and hit the floor with a thud. Dean was using one demon to fight another, and because Flauros had been conjured within a triangle he had no choice but to obey.

Azazel's eyes burned bright as he abruptly forgot about the Winchesters in favor of a new foe. A foe that had powers to fight him on his own terms. Less powerful gifts, it was true, but still a threat to his plans. "You're no match for me, my little warlord…"

Flauros's cat-like features curled into a snarl worthy of a lion. "Perhaps not, Master…but I cannot deny my conjuror his rights…" The lesser demon moved around its prey like the predator it truly was, and as it stalked its form began to slowly dissipate again into the air.

As the brothers watched, mesmerized by their first demon fight, Azazel and Flauros turned back to their black fog-like forms and began to spin in a flurry of motion like making some hell-bound maelstrom.

The pulsing raven mass seemed to suck the life, the air from the corridor and then suddenly, in an explosion of light and sound, both demons vanished as if they'd simply cancelled one another out.

"Talk about anti-climax…" Dean groaned and rolled onto his side, one hand outstretched in front of him. "Now I know what they mean by fight fire with fire…" He coughed, the weight of his body pressing on the floor abruptly catching his injured ribs.

"Dean…" Sam pushed away from the wall, suddenly speechless. He had the gifts, he was the special one, and yet he had almost let the demon win. _Almost, if it hadn't been for Dean._ "Man, you gotta get outta this habit of bleeding all over the place." He tried to lighten the moment, but all he could see as he kneeled at his big brother's side was the scene back at the cabin.

Dean was laid out on the floor, bleeding, dying and he was just as useless now as he had been then, for all his damn gifts. _Why don't they kick in? Why?_ The question howled through his skull, threatening to explode every sentient thought.

"Dude, chicks dig a bleeding hero…." Dean sucked down a breath. "Ten bucks says I charm the first paramedic I set eyes on…" He winced as Sam pulled away the side of his jacket, but it didn't reveal anything but more tears to his t-shirt and flesh. "Gal paramedic," he added as he saw the beginning of a smirk form on his brother's lips.

"Yeah, well, we have to get you out of here before you can do any charming, Romeo." Sam glanced around the corridor. So far, the threatening fire had not escaped the wall it burned behind – at least not in this corridor.

The thing that worried Sam more was the fact that tiny tendrils of smoke were already floating through from the next section of hallway. Azazel was thorough. He hadn't left the destruction of the Uni to chance. Just how many fires were already burning, and on how many levels?

The graying wisps of smoke and thinning air hadn't escaped Dean, either. He weakly grabbed Sam's collar, blood smearing the already battle-worn jacket as his fingers slipped down the cloth. "Sammy, there are people still in here. You can't waste time carrying my ass out or they'll all burn…"

"Dean…"

"No! Sam!" The elder hunter's eye's darkened and his voice raised an octave even though his strength was waning. "Listen to me. You heard what that freaky bastard said. You have a gift, a gift you can use to save life or take it. Now prove to the damn thing who you really are and go save those kids…"

Sam shook his head. He couldn't leave Dean, not like this. "Dean…what you did won't stop the demon. It'll only buy us time. I can't…"

"Leave Me, dammit!" Dean pushed up on his elbows, drawing strength for somewhere he didn't even know he had. "Look, I can get my sorry ass out under my own steam…those kids don't even know there's a fire…"

Sam's eyes darted to the stairwell and to the section of Uni the smoke was ebbing from. His brother was right. But then, Dean was always right. "You can't even stand…" _I won't leave him. I can't…_

"Man, you say that again I swear I'm gonna start throwing punches." The elder hunter grabbed at his ribs as he spoke despite trying to hide the agonizing pain he was in. "GO!"

Sam stood from his stooped position and began to jog towards the smoke. As he reached the corner of the corridor he looked back only once. "I'll come back this way…just in case," he assured, watching as his brother struggled to clamber to his feet.

Dean nodded, waving a bloodied hand in reassurance, but once Sam had vanished from view his beleaguered body toppled forward and he hit the wall, sliding back down its surface until was slumped back on the floor.

------

Sam ran frantically down the corridor, not really knowing which way to head. _Fire, heat, smoke all rise…_

The hunter paused, gathering his thoughts. Without an alarm how could he warn people what was coming? He turned, scanning the walls for another fire point. It was a long shot, but what if Azazel hadn't disabled every alarm in the building?

Sam's eyes locked on the small glass-covered aperture near an elevator door and he raced towards it, arm outstretched. Before his feet had even stopped, he began lashing out at the special glass until it shattered and his knuckles began to bleed with the effort.

Nothing.

"NO!" Sam's scream echoed down the hall, mocking him. What had he really expected?

Sam gulped in air and actually took down more acrid smoke than oxygen. The fire had to be close. His eyes were smarting and his throat tingling from the fumes. _I have to warn someone, anyone… _

In temper, he thrashed at the wall again with his bleeding hand, ignoring the pain each new punch of the alarm button caused. "Work you bastard! WORK!"

Sam slammed the front of his fist into the panel so hard shards of the casing embedded under his skin, but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel or hear anything except the sudden ominous blare of an alarm klaxon as it miraculously kicked in.

For a second, the young hunter could only stare at the wall that was now smeared in his blood. Then, as overheard sprinklers began to spark to life, a scream broke him from his daze.

"Help!"

Sam cast a glance over his shoulder to the corridor he'd just left, torn between his brother and the new voice pleading for his attention. He couldn't leave anyone, but his mind screamed for him to save Dean the way his big brother always saved him.

"Someone, please!"

Sam bit his lip, launching his body towards the sound of the yelling. Two corridors to his left he found the source of the noise. The girl looked about Jess's age, and with her long blonde hair she reminded the hunter all-too well of his long-dead girlfriend.

Sam took the girl by her shoulders and bobbed down to meet her gaze. "Its okay, I'm here. There's a way out back there if you follow me." He jerked a thumb back in Dean's and the stairwell's direction, but the girl shook her head.

"My friend…the elevators all stopped…"

Sam glanced around, realizing what was happening. Just like he'd suspected, Azazel had stopped the lifts so that everyone had to try and go down the stairwell. The stairwell that could easily be a deathtrap. "Alright," he soothed. "Let's see if we can't get the doors open…"

Sam let his already bruised and gashed hands slide along the metal until he reached where the two sliding elevator doors met. Using his spidery fingers to his advantage, he pried at the minute gap until it was just a little wider.

Without having to ask for her help, his young companion slid a hardback folder she was carrying into the gap, and between them they managed to lever open the doors.

Sam peered into the expanse below and was relieved to see the car wasn't very far down. He could probably jump the distance and get to the girl's friend. Getting back up might be slightly more tricky, especially with smoke from the fire already growing in its intensity.

"Look," he turned to the girl. "Follow this corridor and take the next two right turns to the stairwell. There's no point in you waiting. Get out while you can and I'll get to your friend."

The girl shook her head. "No way, Steffie is like my sister. I won't leave her…"

_Like my sister… _

The words cut into Sam as if the demon had returned, talons clawing at him. Where was Dean? Had he really made it out, or was he still back in the hallway, bleeding to death with no help? He pushed the thought aside. "Okay, so I'm gonna go down. See if you can find some towels, cloths, anything, and wet them while I'm gone…"

The girl nodded and before he could say more disappeared into a side office, her form masked by eddies of thick black smog. Sam cleared his throat and rubbed tears from his stinging eyes before grabbing the elevator cable and sliding down its length_. I swear I'm never watching 'Speed' again…_

Sam's boots hit the lift with a soft thud and he kneeled, clambering around the car until he found the emergency hatch in its roof. He tapped on it with his raw knuckles. "Hey, anyone in there?"

"I…I pressed the alarm button…are you with security?" A tiny voice quivered from within.

"I'm here to help," Sam offered, tugging at the roof plate until it came away in his hands. He peered down to see another girl, this time with short brown hair and stylish glasses. "There's a fire. Give me your hand and I'll pull you up…"

Steffie frowned. The guy looking down at her wasn't wearing a uniform and he looked like he'd taken a beating. Still, as she strained she could hear the faint thrum of what sounded like an alarm.

Uncertainly, she reached up a hand and allowed the stranger to grab her with his huge reassuring palm.

Within a second, Sam had pulled the girl through and she was sitting atop the elevator car gawking at the unending shaft above her. "Wow, this is just like in the movies…except you're way better looking than Keanu," she added with an afterthought, then blushed.

Sam couldn't quite look the girl in the eyes for fear he might blush back. Now came the hard part. "Do you think you can climb the cable up to the open doors? We have to hurry…" _Dean…_

Steffie looked at the huge wire strand and then nodded, bringing a sigh of relief from Sam. He would have carried the girl if he'd had to, but he got the feeling she'd have been a hell of a lot happier about it than he would.

"Okay, just take it steady and follow me…" Sam grabbed at the cable and began climbing it like a circus pro. After a few seconds he was back at the top and relieved to see Steffie was right behind him.

Grabbing her collar he hoisted her from the shaft the rest of the way with a quick heave and then stood panting as the lack of oxygen in the air finally got to him.

The foul air he took down came right back out in a fit of uncontrolled coughing. "We need to go back that way…" He pointed towards the corridors that led to the stairwell, praying Dean had already used it, and that it was still devoid of any fires.

"I don't think we can." The girl who had screamed was back and she had a new group of panicked students with her. She thrust a wet towel in his direction with a look of terror spreading across her features. "I just checked, and the fire is blocking our way…"

Sam's gaze moved from one end of the newly formed crowd to the other, some part of him praying Dean was with them. Was it too much to ask that the kids had found his brother? Hope soon changed to disappointment when his sassy sibling's grin didn't great him.

"This part of the Uni is new…I'm still not sure of all the fire exits. Isn't there another way down?" A burly young student moved to the front of the throng and Sam couldn't help but picture him decked out as a quarterback. This kid was definitely football material.

Sam shook his head, instantly thinking of the blueprints he'd examined earlier. "The stairwells are the only way down now that the elevators don't work. Are you sure we can't get through?"

The hefty blond nodded. "We can't get to it. The only corridor that isn't already ablaze is blocked. The freakin' door feels like there's a chunk of concrete the other side it. Believe me, I know…" He rubbed at his shoulder, suggesting he'd tried his best tackle and lost to the door.

Sam rubbed a hand through his hair. Dean had an axe. It was the perfect tool to hack at the door with. The problem was, if he was hearing right, the area where he'd left his brother was already a mass of whirling flames and intolerable heat. _Dean…_

"Show me the door…"

The kid shrugged but broke into a jog, Sam following close on his heels. After only a short distance, the blond youth came to a halt and rapped his knuckles on the electronically controlled fire door. "I don't think this thing is supposed to lock us in," he exhaled.

_Azazel… _

Sam clenched his fingers in his palms until his the remains of his nails bit into his calloused flesh. The demon was winning. Every turn he made, every life he tried to save, the devil was one step ahead, taunting, laughing in the young hunter's face.

Dean had probably already burned alive. Maybe they would all be next just because he wouldn't accept his destiny. "NO!" Sam stepped back and repeatedly kicked at the door with his full strength. It was like kicking a brick wall, but he continued anyway, his anger at Azazel fueling some strength, some inner energy that most people didn't even have at their disposal.

"Hey, man, you're gonna break your fo…" The blond kid stopped mid-sentence as the door exploded from its hinges and clattered down the stairway the other side.

Sam sucked down a breath and had to shake himself. The doorway had been solidly blocked, just like the time Max had locked him in a closet behind a dresser and he'd escaped. _I moved the door just like I moved the cabinet at Max's..._

There was no time to think how. No time to think a demonic gift might be working in his favor. "Everybody down the stairs!" Sam heard his voice come out a half-croak and he yelled again, finally getting everyone's attention.

The blond kid continued to gawk as his companions began to scramble past him down the winding steps. "Dude, you're like some freaky version of the _Incredible Hulk_!" His brows knitted for a second and then he shook his head, scooting after his friends and leaving Sam to bring up the rear.

As Sam hastened down the stairs he could still hear the kid muttering to himself. "Man, pretty whacked, or what…"

-----

**Outside the** **University of Kansas**

Sam wasn't sure how long it had taken for the group to scurry down the south stairwell. From the moment his feet had begun to thunder down the concrete steps his mind had turned to Dean. He was escaping, but his brother?

Footsteps echoing in front of him as the kids raced to safety did little to quell his fears, his agony, and he found his eyes darting along the stairwell walls, looking for signs of his sibling. If Dean had been here, wouldn't there be a blood trail? A stray handprint where he'd steadied his quaking limbs?

There was nothing.

Sam didn't want to accept it, couldn't foresee it. There could be no future without Dean.

Ahead, someone yelled as they reached the emergency exit and pulled down on the long metal bar to elicit their escape. Fresh air blasted the young hunter in the face. Whirling lights, sirens, garbled radio chatter all greeted his senses, but he was somehow unaware of being bustled away from the burning building by a fireman in full garb.

Eventually he realized he'd been ushered to a small area where people who had escaped or had been were being checked over. Teenagers with soot covered faces, teachers trying to sooth students and calm their own frayed nerves.

_Dean… _

Sam allowed someone to throw a blanket over his shoulders as he looked up to the burning Uni. He didn't see their face, didn't know who to thank for their kindness. Instead, all he could see were the harsh orange flames as they licked out from shattered windows, their fiery tendrils licking over the newly-built structure as if they were laughing at him.

Maybe the Winchesters had saved lives here, but somehow as he watched the Uni burn he couldn't help but smell the acrid aroma of defeat.

_Dean…_

Moisture began to fill Sam's eyes, and this time not from the smoke his tired orbs had endured. He whirled, tossing down the blanket in a flurry of motion. Someone here had to know who had come out of the building, who the Fire Department had rescued.

"Excuse me, can you tell me if anyone has been brought out from the south wing? I'm looking for my brother. He probably wouldn't have been able to walk out on his own…he was hurt…" Sam caught the sleeve of the nearest fireman and gave his best puppy dog expression.

Maybe Dean hadn't walked out, but there was still a chance he'd been rescued. Sam's heart began to race anew. There was still hope yet.

The fireman offered a nod towards a group of emergency vehicles surrounded by a huge crowd. "As far as I know only one person was brought down from that side of the building by our guys." He looked down, his moustache twitching with uncertainty as to what to say to the young man before him. "I'm so sorry, son…"

_tbc..._


	12. Chapter 12

_This is the last cliffhanger...I promise ;) Thanks again, everyone! _

Sam let the apology sink in. At first he didn't even accept the meaning. How could Dean be dead? Dean was unbreakable, unstoppable. He was the one force in Sam's life that was constant and true.

Sam blinked, shifting his focus to the ambulances and fire trucks where the man had pointed. Had Dean really been carried out, only to die of his injuries before his brother could get to him?

_And what if I had gotten to him in time? I can't control the gift the Devil gave me. I don't know how to make it work now anymore than I did in Missouri…it was just luck back then… _

The young hunter looked down at his grimy, shaking palms. Healing hands? Maybe, but he was damned if he knew how. All he'd done was sit at Dean's bedside and panic after the truck business. There was no way to know what had brought on the miraculous gift that Azazel had given him.

_But what if I can still save Dean? What if the gift could bring him back? _

Sam began to shake more, and his brother's words echoed through his mind.

_What's dead should stay dead…_

But this was Dean, this was different. Sam began to push through the crowds to the spinning colored lights, but as the line of people thinned, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Even if he could still save Dean, wasn't using the demonic gift that way wrong? He wouldn't just be healing someone this time, he'd be playing with fate, destiny to actually bring someone back.

Sam huffed and shook his head. Just what the hell did he think he was going to do anyway? Maybe Azazel would have taught him how to take lives, but there was no one to show him how to use his gift to save them. He was stuck in limbo, a gifted freak alone in the world.

_Can't live like this. Don't want to live like this… _

Sam let his fingers slide into his jacket pocket and feel the chilly steel of his Glock. Somehow, its ice-cold touch let him know what he had to do. He wasn't going to be the devil's pawn. He wasn't going to be alone and hunted by a demon and his own kind too because of his gift.

"Hey, kid?" The fireman from earlier called out to him, but Sam didn't want his condolences. He didn't want comforting. Right now, all Sam wanted was to meet his maker and hope he didn't find out that meant a one way ticket to Hell.

Ignoring the voice behind him, Sam began to run, to push through the gathering of onlookers and terrified students until he was clear of the Uni – clear of the place that had taken his brother's life.

His journey was a short one. It didn't take long, after all, to find a nice quiet spot to end it all. All he needed was a moment alone, a moment to remember his family, his mother, father, brother and sweetheart one last time before oblivion.

The hunter nestled his gun in his mouth, letting the barrel rest on his lower lip. He closed his eyes, wishing there was someone left to say his farewells to.

Sam's forefinger closed on the trigger, muscles tensing as he pulled back on the sprung mechanism.

In the Kansas night, a sole gunshot's discharge echoed across the local river and then all was still; not even the muted sounds of nearby traffic broke the silence.

The scene remained that way for a second, maybe two, and then Sam groaned, rolling on the ground in agony as he cradled a second bruised and broken hand. Next to him, his battered Glock lay in the soft mud, damaged and unused. He blinked, dazed at having been fired at by some unseen gunman.

_What the hell? Demons don't carry forty-fives! _

It took two more seconds for Sam to realize who did. He rolled into a sitting position, a look of amazement mixed with trepidation on his face as his eyes met Dean's.

The elder hunter was a short distance away, teetering on his feet, bruised and bloodied, but seemingly alive – for now.

_Dean's dead…it must be a trick by Azazel, but then, he wouldn't need to shoot the gun away…he has powers like in the cabin…_

Dean spat a clot of blood from his mouth, his glazed eyes focusing on something behind his brother as he spoke. "Dying wasn't your choice, Sammy…" He paused, struggling to take down a breath. The smoking auto in his hand dangling from his fingertips as he struggled to keep a grip. "It was _his_ choice. _He _was putting those ideas into your head. What he can't control, he wants to destroy. What he can't harvest, he burns…He might have given you those gifts, but he sure as hell hadn't counted on Winchester gall. He hates you because he can't control you. The power of life and death in your hands, Sammy, not his…"

Sam spun around, abruptly forgetting the pain from his shattered hand where Dean had shot the Glock away. Behind him, Azazel stood smirking, still taking their father's form in the long and familiar overcoat. "You really think your brother knows so much about me, Sam? Even his attempt to be rid of me with Flauros was half-hearted. You knew I'd be back, didn't you? And _you_ know I _can_ control. How many times have you failed to harm me? Failed to stop me? You're weak. You lack the ability to thwart me…"

Dean still stared at the thing that dared to mimic John, defiant to the end, even though his favorite weapon slowly fell from his grasp and landed in the mud at his feet. He was tired, weary of life itself, but he wasn't done yet – not while Azazel still threatened Sam.

"Maybe _I _lack the ability because the only things I ever put my faith in are things I can see, touch, and understand, but Sammy, he's different. My brother, he has enough faith for both of us…" Dean swallowed hard. It was an effort to stay upright, let alone valiant in the face of such a foe, but he wasn't going to hit the floor, not just yet. "You see, I just happen to know the power to banish your sorry ass doesn't come from any spell or ritual. I finally worked it all out. The greatest power of all is from the heart, and dude, Sammy got your ass whooped in that department." The trademark grin appeared on bloodied lips. "See, Sammy might be a child born of darkness, but he sure as hell isn't filled with it…"

Azazel's glowing eyes and victorious sneer seemed to falter. Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight filtering down through the clouds. Or maybe, Dean had finally found the monster's Achilles' heal. Dean liked that. He liked the sudden idea that even a creature like this knew fear. Satan perhaps was un-killable, but he wasn't beyond banishment. The bible had already proved that.

Spurred on by the knowledge his guesswork had paid off, Dean drew the strength to finish what he'd started. He believed it, now he had to make sure Sam did too. Faith just didn't tend to mean squat without the person really trusted without actually seeing. "Jesus resisted temptation from you three times in the desert, didn't he? Seems to me you've had your three chances at getting Sammy, and you screwed em up big time. Funny how history has a way of repeating itself, isn't it?"

Sam's mouth dropped open at his brother's biblical reference and what he was suggesting. It was so unlike Dean to put faith in anything, let alone read the bible, and yet, here he was spouting parts from the good book better than a preacher on a pulpit. All along they'd searched for some obscure way to kill the thing, and maybe all they'd needed to do was look in their hearts. Could it really be that simple?

"Sam is mine. He can't escape his future…" The demon looked to the younger Winchester. "Your soul was given to me as a payment in full by your mother. You can't change that…"

"Evil doesn't have to begat evil, Sammy. Trust your instincts. Don't listen to this bastard…" Dean felt the muscles in his legs begin to give way, but he fought it, just like he'd fought everything in his life. He couldn't fall, not until this was over. Not until Sam had shown Satan there was enough good in the world to still keep the son of a bitch in hell where he belonged.

Sam's heart was pounding until he could feel the throb in his ears. Finally, he understood what could banish the devil. Finally, he realized that only the ultimate sacrifice would do as proof of his faith. It wasn't really that different from what he'd come here to do in the first place.

The youngest Winchester stooped, quickly grabbing his brother's fallen weapon before Dean could do anything to stop him. "I might have been created for evil, but I'll never succumb to it. Not now, not ever." He walked closer, putting the muzzle of Dean's forty-five to his head. "I have faith there is a source of good in this world. Faith that good will always overcome the like's of you. If my death is the only thing that will prove what I believe, then so be it…"

Sam took down a breath and let his trembling forefinger pull back on the trigger. Putting on any kind of pressure sent shooting tendrils of pain down his broken hand, but he ignored it. The pain would soon be banished to oblivion, just like the demon he had fought for so long.

As the hammer of the weapon fell back, Azazel's anguished roar filled the embankment and beyond. His mortal form exploded in a shower of light and black particles, and his very essence seemed to be sucked down into the earth. Down to the pits of Hell where his other demonic brethren resided and waited for their chance to escape their prison.

As the satanic wail dissipated, Sam opened his eyes and gaped at the weapon in his bruised palm. He'd pulled the trigger. It should have sent a slug smashing through his skull, exploding his brain all over the river's edge, but it hadn't. "I…" He stammered, not comprehending how he'd been spared.

Dean grinned roguishly and then finally let his knees buckle.

Forgetting his lucky escape, Sam dropped the automatic and dived to his brother's side, kneeling in the soft earth to carefully tug Dean's head and shoulders clear of the mud. Cradling his big brother, he began to cry without even really knowing which emotion had brought out the tears.

Dean took a weary breath, still managing to smirk even though it hurt. "You didn't really…think I'd drop a loaded gun anywhere near your ass the mood you were in, did you? Guess you should have expected it after River Grove. Couldn't…couldn't let goofy Sasquatch boy shoot himself, not then, not now…not ever…"

"I thought you were already dead…they said…" Sam looked at the blood on Dean's coat, on his shirt, on his jeans even. It was everywhere. _Just like Missouri… _"I need to get some help!"

Dean waved him off, moving with a slight grunt in Sam's arms. "Can't believe the faith thing actually worked…guess he might be back when he realizes I emptied the clip…"

Sam's face contorted into an even bigger frown than it was already wearing. "And then what?"

"Guess…guess you'll really have to shoot yourself…" Dean winked, licking some of the blood from his lips and then added. "I think it's the actual act of faith, Sammy. You didn't know it was empty. You still pulled the trigger. He can't stand up to that kind of…kinda of blind belief in good…" The hunter sighed, watching the confusion in his brother's eyes. He wished he could explain more. He wished he could disperse all the black clouds and give Sammy some hope, but there just wasn't time. He was too tired, too weary.

Dean's eyes slowly rolled back in their sockets and he spoke no more.

It was what Sam had expected, what he'd known was going to happen, but he still couldn't accept it. Not now, not like this. Dean wasn't supposed to die in his arms. He was supposed to go out fighting, weapon in hand like some ancient Viking.

Sam looked up to the heavens, his soul pleading that if their truly was a God to be shown how to save his brother. How to use the evil gift he'd been given for a purpose other than to kill. But the heavens, the Gods were silent.

Suddenly, Sam wished there really had been a bullet in the clip. He wished his death had come quick, so that whatever afterlife his brother was headed for, he could have been there with him too. "NO!" The yell was almost as loud as Azazel's, and this time, it did draw just a little more attention…

_tbc... _


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, this is the end, folks! I'd like to say a special thanks to Tree for helping make sure the med stuff in this part is accurate and believable! And now…on with the show!**

Someone or something was behind Sam. He could hear the scuffling noises as who, or whatever it was hurriedly scrambled down the embankment. Maybe Azazel was back already. Maybe his sacrifice just didn't work without a real death.

Sam should have spun around, should have been ready to meet the attack head on, but he just didn't care anymore.

When a warm and gentle hand squeezed his shoulder he finally craned his neck enough to see who the newcomer was.

The eyes that met his were pleasant and soothing, no hint of orange glow in their pale blue hues. "You found your brother…" The fire fighter from earlier kneeled, slipping a hand to Dean's neck to quickly feel for a pulse. "Sonny, you need to let me take him. He needs help…" The words were soothing, as if he somehow knew just how numb Sam was feeling. He'd seen this kind of reaction so many times - too many times, in fact.

Sam flinched back as calloused hands offered to take his brother. He wasn't letting go, couldn't let go. It didn't matter about the throbbing in his hand, it didn't matter that he was struggling to stand with Dean's weight. Somehow, he wasn't going to let big brother down again.

The fire fighter backed off a little, offering Sam a steadying hand as he clambered up with Dean's limp body in his arms. His steely blue eyes watched the younger man carefully, ready to take the load should Sam falter on his rapid ascent of the embankment.

Sam's long legs traversed the muddy incline with surprising speed and agility, despite the lifeless weight he bore on both arms. But then, Sam didn't feel Dean's weight, all he felt was the same void in his stomach the night he'd watched Jess burn, the night he'd stood outside Dean's hospital room as he'd flatlined, the same loss he'd felt every time Azazel had his way.

_You don't win tonight, you bastard… _

False bravado spurred the young hunter on, the elder fire fighter jogging at his side as they approached the emergency vehicles Sam had seen earlier. As they grew closer Sam began to feel nauseous. This was the part where he had to hand Dean over. He had to put his brother's life in others hands.

_Why can't I heal him, dammit! _

Sam gritted his teeth, suddenly pulling back as a paramedic offered to take Dean's sagging body from his arms. He didn't trust anyone with his brother. How could he after Missouri? To let go now would be like admitting it was over. His fingers gripped Dean harder until his broken hand seemed to scream at him to let go.

"Son, you have to let them take him." Sam felt the fireman prying his fingers loose. "C'mon, let the medics do their job…"

"I…I have to watch out for him…" Sam stammered out the words as if he were drunk, but then, that was what this felt like – some liquor induced nightmare he would wake up from. "Have to look out for him, like he has me…"

"You are, son," the elder man reassured. "Now let them look after him."

Sam felt his grip loosen, although he had no real memory of his brain telling his muscles to do so. It was like watching a movie. It wasn't real. It wasn't really happening to him, was it?

As he watched, bleary eyed beside the ambulance's two rear doors, the paramedics worked on Dean in the back of the rig. He couldn't see everything, couldn't hear everything, but what he saw was enough to bring back echoes of the past he didn't want reminding of.

In truth, he remembered little of the aftermath of the crash in Missouri. His first fleeting memories were of the paramedics carrying him from the crushed Impala along with Dean and their father.

The medics had said little to placate his worry back then, and somehow he expected the same response now.

_What can they say? They know I don't want to hear he's dying… _

"You gonna be alright, son?" The fire fighter placed a blanket over Sam's shoulders.

Sam nodded, only now realizing how much he was shaking. Covered in Dean's blood he probably looked as big a candidate for the back of the ambulance as Dean did.

_Not that bad. I'm not dying. I'm not the one who always pays the price… _

It was easy to take the blame. Easy to take the weight on his shoulders for everything that had happened. Just not so easy to accept he was going to face the world alone. Sam swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. He felt sick to the stomach – sick of the crap life dealt the Winchesters.

He dared to look up, to try and peer into the back of the rig to see what was going on. Part of him didn't want to know for fear of what the knowledge might bring.

From what he could see, the medics had already cut off Dean's clothes and hooked him up to an EKG. Sam's eyes focused on the monitor, watching the tiny lines that mapped out his brother's heartbeat. Looking at it, hell looking anywhere, was better than looking back at the shredded mess of Dean's chest now his shirt had been removed. .While the little machine kept on beeping, Dean kept on living, and that was all Sam was interested in.

"_Jesus, what the hell makes a wound like that…" _

Sam started as he realized the medics were talking about the demon's handy work. Until now, he hadn't even really been aware he could hear their conversation.

"_Okay, hand me another trauma dressing ..."_

"_IV's in. Running it wide open."_

It was ironic, but as Sam watched the pair work, he couldn't help but realize the Dean's earlier quip had come half true. One of the medics working on him was a girl. If he'd been conscious, no doubt her number would already have been memorized. Not that there was any chance of that happening now. If this played out like Missouri and Sam's gift didn't kick in, it was likely Dean wouldn't wake ever again.

The idea was too much and Sam turned away, blinking back tears as he was forced to continue to hear the ambulance's crews muffled dialogue.

"_MAST pants…on and inflated…" _

Sam didn't even understand some of the medical banter, but it didn't matter. It really didn't take too much of his imagination to fit the pieces together. Would he soon need to make another funeral pyre like their father's?

"Dude, you cut up my best pair of friggin' jeans…"

Sam's eyes opened wide at the muted but slightly angry voice. _I'm hearing things… _

"Sammy…"

Sam spun around so fast the blanket dropped from his shoulders and he thought he'd slip on the wet gravel beneath his feet. Inside the rig, Dean had pulled off the oxygen mask that had been placed on him and was weakly struggling with the nearest paramedic, blissfully unaware that he'd lost far too much blood for such antics.

"Dean, just…" Sam clambered into the back of the ambulance, not quite sure what to say, but knowing he had to do something to stop his brother undoing the medics work. "Just lay back, I'm here, alright?" He placed his damaged hand atop Dean's, feeling a sense of relief wash over him along with a fresh surge of pain from the broken bones that were gleefully grinding together.

Dean huffed and then grimaced. "Dude, isn't it…about time you worked some of your…mojo on me here? 'Cause I'm telling you this hurts like a bitch." He looked at the female medic still working on him and his lips curled into a slightly roguish smile that said a lewd thought had definitely crossed his mind, blood loss or not. He eventually let his head loll sideways. "Dude…what they put me in, I feel like the friggin Stay Puft Marshmallow Man…"

Sam noted the bizarre pneumatic pants on his brother and could only guess at their purpose. Still, anything that kept Dean alive was nothing short of amazing, and if he could have given the designers his gift, hell, anything, he would have right then and there.

He caught the girl paramedic shooting him a look and wondered if she'd noticed Dean's bawdy expression. If she had, he hoped she chalked it up to shock, and not that his half dead brother was a pervert.

"Dean…what you said back there about faith…" Sam wanted Dean to believe in something now, anything as long as it kept his wayward butt fighting.

Dean took a breath and his eyes closed momentarily. Damned if he wasn't tired again. He let his fingers squeeze Sam's arm with what little strength he had. "Sammy, the only thing I ever had faith in…is you, little brother…" With that his eyes closed again and he drifted off into peaceful ignorance.

Sam's gaze instantly shot to the monitor still checking Dean's vitals, but it continued to beep rhythmically. He sighed with relief, the constant memory of his father and Dean flatlining in Missouri tugging at his soul. At his side, the male medic slipped the oxygen mask back over Dean's face and jerked a thumb towards the rigs doors. "We need to get moving. You can ride up front if you like. We need the room back here to work."

The younger Winchester opened his mouth to protest. He didn't want to leave his brother, not for a moment, not for a second. Dean would want him to be here if…if…

No, that wasn't going to happen. Dean had come around once, he would again. Sam nodded and clambered out of the rear doors, cradling his hand to prevent further mishap. When he realized the medic wasn't right behind, he turned, needing answers. "He's my brother," he simply stated, the emotion in his tone making it quite clear how fragile his mind was right now. "I…I need to know…"

"He's stable for now, but he needs a hospital. We really should get moving…"

So little information, just like Missouri, but then, at least this time he knew Dean was alive. Back at the Impala he hadn't even been given that snippet of hope.

Sam bobbed his head in thanks and climbed up into the rig's cab without further questions. Questions cost time, and time was something Dean might not have. He waited patiently, wondering why the medic hadn't followed him and hit the gas and sirens.

Instead, the driver's door still hung half open, and Sam noticed there was no customary "thunk" of the rear doors closing from behind the ambulance.

He strained his ears, suddenly needing to listen to what was transpiring in the rig behind him.

"_He's bleeding through!" _

Sam caught his own reflection in the rearview and saw the color drain from his cheeks until he looked like _Casper_. He fought the urge to race back around to Dean, but all he'd be was a hindrance to the medics.

"_Sammy, the only thing I ever had faith in…is you, little brother…"_

Sam buried his head in his hands and began to weep. He didn't care that tough guys shouldn't cry. He didn't care that it wasn't macho. All of the pent up feelings of loss, remorse and desperation finally flowed freely.

When the driver finally hastily appeared and threw the ambulance into gear, turning on the lights and siren, Sam's ears struggled to pick up the security of the cardiac monitor as it metrically beeped out its assurance that his brother was still with him.

"What the hell?" A panicked cry from one of the medics rose above the sirens scream and the engine's roar, panicking Sam even further.

Sam turned in time to see a flurry of movement from the compartment behind him, followed by the continuous monotone beep of the monitor as it signaled the absence of a rhythm.

It was a sound that Sam was all too familiar with, and it signaled the death of a Winchester.

----

**Missouri Moseley's Home**

**Three Days Later…**

"Dude, do you have to keep fidgeting?" Sam looked across Missouri's dining table as his brother moved uncomfortably on his chair.

Dean scowled, holding a hand over his chest as if its mere warmth and presence would somehow alleviate the pain he was in. "Hey, I feel like a Grandma's best needlework effort here. Show some compassion. Anymore stitches saving your ass and they'd need to rename me Patch."

Sam rolled his eyes, watching as Missouri brought a huge dish of homemade broth from the kitchen and set it down on the table between them. "Dude, _you_ broke my hand!" He lifted up his arm and offered up the cast that was protruding from his shirt sleeve.

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault you act like a girl. Even your bones are soft. First some zombie chick, and now a little knock and you fall apart!" Dean grinned, suddenly feeling the urge to annoy his brother more. "Not to mention you made a complete ass out of yourself in the ambulance. Dude, trying to climb in the back of the rig and almost landing on top of me? So not cool…"

Dean's smirk grew until he saw the huge ladle Missouri was brandishing, and his smile faltered for a moment.

"Well, if _you_ hadn't tried your unruly _Great Escape_ routine and tugged of the heart monitor leads and IV's, I wouldn't have had too." Sam's expression grew momentarily pained. "Dude, you scared the crap outta me. When I heard the monitor…I thought…"

"Yeah, well I'm not going anywhere. 'Course, it might have been fun if the gal medic had tried to restrain me…" Dean sobered just a little after his slightly crude thought. "Good job our old friend Azazel decided not to turn my insides into ground beef quite so soon this time. I guess he's secretly starting to like my smart ass comments and witty comeback, huh?" He eyed the soup now being served into a dish before him. It looked damn good, but he was still wary of the spoon from hell in the psychic's hand as he watched its every move.

"Or he knew if he killed you quickly he had no leverage over me…" Sam rubbed at his head. It was all getting too much again just thinking about it.

Dean had been lucky and escaped with no real internal injuries save for two broken ribs. The rest of the lacerations had been deep, but not penetrating. All his brother had to show outwardly for the attack was a busted and cut lip where he'd unceremoniously face-planted the university wall. Unless, of course, he took his shirt off, then it was a whole different story.

"So, just how did you get out of that burning building anyway? I thought you were toast, literally." Sam nodded his thanks to Missouri who was still serving and taking in the proceedings silently.

"I walked down the stairwell, how else?" When Sam's face contorted he held up a hand in submission. "Alright," he sighed playfully. "A couple of students found me and gave me a hand. But I still had to find your ass on my own."

Sam rubbed at his mouth and frowned. "Yeah, I think you chipped my teeth…man, this is so going on your credit card to get fixed…"

"Hey, well you do have this bad habit of putting guns in your mouth when they weren't made to fit there." Dean took a sip of his broth and savored the flavour. "Thanks," he offered as Missouri finally took a seat between them.

"You're welcome…" Missouri smiled and looked at both brothers. "You know, I bet your daddy had to butt your two heads together when you were kids to stop you quarrelling."

"Mostly he just threatened to take Dean's arsenal of toy guns away." Sam beamed, reaching out for a hunk of home-cooked bread that had been carved up on the table.

As his arm moved, Missouri's eyebrows melted into a frown. Emblazoned right along the chalky-white cast in huge red letters were the words "Internet Porn Surfer."

"Dean Winchester!" Before the elder hunter could move, he found the harsh metallic edge of the ladle from hell rap across his knuckles turning them a tinge of scarlet red.

He recoiled, cradling his hand even though it was really more his macho pride the psychic had hurt. "Hey! I can't help it if little Sammy can't get enough of that stuff!" Dean watched with satisfaction as his brother blushed, indicating his guilt.

"No, but you waited till he was asleep to write on the boy's cast. Shame on you!" Her eyes flashed as Dean almost attempted a retort – almost. "Ah!" The ladle reappeared in Missouri's hand to Dean's horror, followed by the sound of the plump spiritualist and his brother bursting into laughter.

"Hey, I'm injured here…cut me some slack!"

For today, the joke was definitely on Dean.

The brothers exited Missouri's home a little over two hours after they'd arrived. There was so much more to do, and neither had any clue where to begin. How could they, when their foe was the devil incarnate.

"You boys don't be strangers, now. Your daddy left it too long to visit me. Don't you go making that mistake…" Missouri hugged Sam and then looked him in the eyes as if expecting a question. "Well, come on now; spit it out, boy, or do I have to wait out here all day?"

Sam glanced to Dean and then back down to Missouri. "Is it gone? I mean…what we did, was it enough?"

Missouri smiled a wan smile and placed a hand on his arm. "Sam, I wish I had the answers, but even God can't kill the devil. You'll have time to heal - time to find the other children like you and warn them before his return. That's all I sense."

"And when we find the kids, what if this bast…" Dean stopped, searching for the spoon that may or may not be hiding in Missouri's hand. "This… _thing_ has already gotten to them?" He reached for the driver's door of the Impala and then decided against it. Just moving pulled at his stitches until it made his teeth grind. And that was without the agony in his side from the ribs he'd busted. He tossed the keys reluctantly to Sam instead.

"Sam will know what to do." Missouri answered cryptically. "Trust in yourself," she soothed to the tallest brother. "And everything will fit into its place. You're a part of this fight, and you have to embrace that."

Sam nodded. His destiny was already written, already mapped, and all he could do was make sure you chose the right paths. He bobbed down, climbing into the black classic and cranking the engine.

Dean joined him in the Chevy, winding down his window to give Missouri a slight wave. "That's what I keep telling him. Trust yourself." The hunter beamed. "But trust your big brother more…" He grinned then winced, leaning forward to stick a cassette in the car's player.

As Sam pulled away from the sidewalk Bon Jovi's _Keep the Faith _began to blast out until it was almost deafening.

_Mother mother tell your children  
That their time has just begun  
I have suffered for my anger  
There are wars that cant be won_

_Faith: you know youre gonna live thru the rain  
Lord you got to keep the faith  
Faith: dont let your love turn to hate  
Right now we got to  
Keep the faith  
Keep the faith_

"Dean? Did it have to be that song?" Sam shook his head but knew his brother would never change. That was what made his wayward ass so lovable.

"Hell, yeah!" The infamous "Dean grin" appeared. "Besides, you do realize you gotta get a handle on these powers of yours, right?" He raised a brow.

"Huh?"

"Well, Sammy, I've been thinking…if you can heal…we could do the whole Roy Le Grange thing! Think of the cash, the girls…" Dean winked. "We could retire to Hawaii by summer!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "In your dreams, man. In your dreams…."

The Impala vanished over the horizon, heading South out of Kansas and on to its future. Inside, two brothers, two warriors journeyed to their ultimate destiny, the fate of mankind unknowingly in their hands.

THE END


End file.
